


The Thaw

by Silverene1313



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Eventual Romance, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-09-05 15:11:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16813165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverene1313/pseuds/Silverene1313
Summary: The peace following a war is worse than a war: Greenwood splits and frays in the aftermath of the War of the Ring as power dangles tantalisingly. Plots are spun while the darkness lingers. A prince with a heart full of running away and a healer with hands of poison learn that after frosts thaw, the hidden corruption emerges. Slow burn.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Well hello look what we have here! Another Legolas fic that no one asked for!
> 
> I cannot pretend that this will be wholly true to Tolkein lore and I certainly will not try to fool you into thinking this is canon. I have, however, done my best to mimic a somewhat realistic political fray, and characterise Tolkein's creations as canon as I can. (Honestly all I'm going off is one line in the Hobbit about Thranduil's crown and all the parts in LOTR where Legolas sings about things)
> 
> So here you go! Please read and review (You don't have to enjoy it if you don't want to. I won't mind.)

Dawn broke bright and early with a furious hammering at Ashryn's door.

She ignored it at first, electing to burrow further beneath her covers, and the banging ceased for a brief moment before returning with increasing intensity. "Ashryn!" Came a muffled shout through the wooden door, and she groaned out loud before she half tumbled out of bed, pulling on a robe and staggering down the stairs bleary-eyed, a hand on the wall for support.

"All right, all right, I'm coming! I'm coming!" Kicking aside a stray chair, she belted her robe before pushing up the bolt. "There had better be a damn good reason why you're hamme -" she stumbled to a halt.

There, upon the small bridge which separated her quarters from the others in the area, stood her uncle's protégée, Cassian, along with the crown prince of the woodland realm, supporting between the two of them an unconscious ellon, his face stark white and trickling blood from his mouth. The prince gave an impatient tilt of his head. "Yes, I do suppose this is important enough to warrant a visit, my lady. Just be grateful I hammered, and didn't break it down."

"Duly," Ashryn muttered but stood aside to let them in, sweeping the tabletop clean and rushing to her herbs cabinet as she rolled up her sleeves. "Lay him here. What happened?"

"A stray orc pack," Cassian was breathing hard as he wiped a strand of dark hair off his face, peeling up the ellon's tunic to reveal a gaping slice across his chest, still oozing dark blood. The veins surrounding the wound were prominent and a poisonous black green, spreading slowly but steadily across his skin.

Ashryn inhaled sharply as she gently pressed against the skin, feeling the heat radiating off it. "Do you have the blade?"

Cassian looked at her blankly. "The blade?"

"Yes, you tree-nut, the blade, the one that he was sliced with? What was on it?"

Legolas shook his head. "We were focused on getting him back as quick as possible. Can you save him?"

Ashryn ignored the question. "Here, go and fill these with water – clean !" She shoved three bowls into Cassian's hands and pointed towards the door. He stumbled to obey. "My lord, in that cabinet there, there are needles and thread. I need you to start a fire and heat up the needle."

Cassian returned quickly, setting down the bowl on the table beside the injured elf. She dampened a cloth before gently wiping around the edges of the wound, slowly revealing the grotesque damage done by the orc. The slice wasn't deep, but it was large, and dealt by a jagged blade, no doubt rusted as well as coated with poison. The bowls of water quickly turned murky as a fire leapt up in the corner of the room. The wound smelt sickly sweet.

"Do you know what was on the sword?" Cassian asked as he set down another bowl of clean water.

"Put a cool cloth on his face," Ashryn instructed in reply as the elf moaned in pain, shifting slightly. "And I'm going to need both of you to hold him down."

The prince set the heated needle beside her, nodding briefly. "Do what you must."

The poison was from a common type of lily, easily acquired by orcs. Sweet smelling once crushed and boiled, it was lethal once congested, and extraordinarily dangerous if left in a wound. It was, however, curable. Not easily done, but possible. She hurried to her cabinet, taking pinches of this and drips of that, mixing them together into a chunky, brownish paste that both ellons turned up their noses at.

"Oh get a grip," Ashryn snapped. Carefully, she added water until it formed a thin liquid, and used the solution to wash the wound again. Rivulets of dirty water running off onto the tabletop were dutifully wiped up by Cassian, the colour still leeched from his face. "Needle," She ordered, settling at the edge of the table. "Hold his arms and legs, please."

The ellon had regained some semblance of consciousness, and was breathing raggedly in pain, the whites of his eyes showing beneath the slits of his eyes as Ashryn threaded the needle. "Deep breaths now," she murmured to him softly, "you'll be alright." He hissed as she punctured the tender skin around the wound, but did not cry out. Beside her, Legolas and Cassian held him steady. She worked quickly. Although she was less of a healer and more of an expert in poisons and herbs, she had received standard training with weapons, and moreover, any growing elfling had been taught the skill of holding a sharp object steadily. Time blurred into inhales and exhales as Ashryn sewed together the gash.

If any of her companions spoke, Ashryn did not register them, or even the weak thrashings of his limbs as she neared the edge of the wound, leaning over him slightly to tie the thread and snip off the end. "There." Swapping the needle for a roll of thick white bandages, Ashryn nodded to the two elves to release him. "Sit him up, please. Gently! You'll tear the stitches!"

In a matter of minutes, the wound was bound, the bottles of herbs were set away, along with her sewing devices and bandages. The injured ellon was passed out on the tabletop, and Cassian had collapsed onto a chair. The prince leaned against her window, his quiver of arrows sitting at his feet. Ashryn tugged her robe closer together as she rolled her sleeves back down, settling against the side of her dining table. "I do believe an explanation is owed,' she commented mildly.

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"Oh, don't try to fool me, my lord. You come here with a near fatally injured soldier, at the crack of dawn, all of you insufficiently armoured, when you know perfectly well you gave a report last night concerning the lack of orc presence in the woods. Also, you came to me, instead of the healers on the other side of the city – meaning you want this dealt with quietly. And I assure you, I can be silent as the grave… if you tell me what's going on."

"Everyone knows you're the expert concerning poisons," Cassian shrugged.

Ashryn chuckled. "My uncle taught you many things, old friend, but lying isn't one of them. Is this the result of an impromptu excursion outside the borders I'm seeing here? An unauthorised one which our king would be outraged to know of? Especially since it could easily have been his only heir lying prone on my tabletop, having very nearly had his heart cut open?" She shot a challenging look at the prince, whose jaw tightened slightly.

"What of it?"

"Oh, I couldn't care less. But when I end up with a dead courtier on by tabletop with no way to explain it? That's where the problem is."

"Lady Ashryn -" Legolas started to protest, but Cassian cut him off.

"What do you want."

"Sorry?"

Her friend ran a hand through his hair. "What do you want out of it? In return?"

Ashryn narrowed her eyes at him, crossing her arms. "Do you think I am that shallow, Cassian?"

"You can have my horse if you really wanted," he offered, "or perhaps my boots? I know how much you like those."

"This is not the time," Legolas ground out. "My lady, will my solemn oath account for our agreement? My word that your involvement will remain always secret, in return for your services should the time come?"

She frowned. "Barring the immense probability that you will not be able to keep your… escapades a secret, this still appears to be a terrible exchange."

"Are you really that shallow?" A hint of a teasing grin played at the edges of the prince's mouth.

"Fine," she growled, sticking out her hand. "We have an accord." They shook briefly, and Ashryn placed her hands on her hips. "Now, help me move him."

"Move him where?" Cassian lifted his head from the table, poking his comrade gently on the calf. "Shouldn't he stay still?"

Ashryn mock clapped him. "Oh, words of wisdom! He should, but not on this surface. And also for sake of secrecy," she shot a look at Legolas, "if anyone comes knocking, I'd rather not have an unconscious warrior, prince or not, on my kitchen table."

"Where would you rather have him, then?"

Ashryn jerked her head towards the narrow staircase around the side of the room. "Bedroom."

Cassian looked at her blankly. "Your bedroom?"

"No, you doofus, the guest bedroom!"

"Oh." Cassian looked down and back up. "What if someone comes visiting?"

"Well," Ashryn stared down imperiously at him, "bedroom's a lot easier to explain than dining table, isn't it?"

"Oh."

"Yes indeed," Legolas mused lightly, "it would be easy to explain. To his wife."

Ashryn spun to him, continuing in exactly the same tone. "Well, then somebody had better make sure that situations are suitably explained to his wife then, shouldn't they?" She checked his temperature quickly before straightening, tugging once again at the robe. "He'll be here for three days at most. She's welcome to visit."

"No," Legolas cut in. "It's too suspicious to have people coming and going from here when they shouldn't be. We'll find you to check up on his situation. Cassian." Each carefully taking a half of the wounded ellon's body, the two inched towards the staircase, Ashryn leading the way.

"Watch his head!" She warned as they began the curving ascent, Cassian maneuvering his comrade's upper half and narrowing missing scalping him against the rough wood. "Slowly! If you tear his stitches, then you'll find yourself short a healer to stitch the pieces of you back together! Cassian! For the love of Eru, slow down! No, not that room, that's mine! The other one!"

Cassian shouldered open the door which opened into a small chamber, lit with several small round windows and furnished with just a bed along with a closet. A clump of flowers hung on the door, drying and perfuming the room slightly. Leaves drooped over the windows. When Legolas stood to his full height, he head-butted a lantern swinging from the roof, and looked quite offended.

"The ceiling is the height of two grown men, and yet you have a lantern hanging so low?"

"That's the highest I can reach," Ashryn deadpanned. "Set him down."

They did so slightly clumsily, Cassian tripping over the foot of the bed as he did so. "Alright now, if you would be so kind to acquire some of his clothes and belongings and all that stuff sometime today, I'd be most grateful. Now get out. Your highness."

Looking a bit uncertain, the two elves shot a glance at each other and their friend before filing out obediently, following each other down the stairs. "I'll send something along," Legolas nodded at her as Cassian pushed open the door. "Thank you."

"You are quite welcome, my lord," Ashryn dipped her head. "And get some ice for that ankle."

He blinked a bit uncertainly at her, glancing down quickly. "There's nothi -" He sighed. "Aye, my lady," the prince muttered under his breath with a bit of a smile before shutting the door.

Ashryn turned, falling back against the wooden surface as it shut, tipping her head back to rest against the cool timber as she surveyed her living room. Bandages were strewn haphazardly over her table, rivulets of brown water still dripping steadily onto the floor. She had never been the cleanest worker, Ashryn thought ruefully as she pushed off the door.

There was an unconscious warrior in her guest room, carnage in her living room, and she had an inkling of suspicion that she just might be the one who would take the fall for this whole fiasco.

(Princes and protégées never do, anyhow.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A somewhat shorter chapter, but I do hope you will forgive me (all 3 dozen of you)!
> 
> Disclaimer: I have not acquired additional rights to Tolkein's books, unfortunately, and neither have I found a way to purchase a life sized version of Orlando Bloom circa 2001. Thus, i still own nothing.
> 
> Please read and review and enjoy :)

Cassian escorted Ashryn to a court session the following day, walking too fast as she did her best to avoid tripping over flowing lilac skirts.

"Rohan envoys arrived late last night," Cassian informed her as they crossed a narrow wooden bridge, water tumbling swiftly past. "This ought to be an interesting session. I was up with your uncle half the night watching him prepare all of his arguments against neutrality. He's determined to make the absolute most of out this opportunity."

Ashryn made a noise at the back of her throat as Cassian rubbed wearily at his eyes with a free hand, the two of them making a turn to join the steady flow of elves into the courtroom. "I would not get my hopes up."

Cassian frowned at her, pace slowing as they neared the wide double doors of the chambers. "Have a little faith, won't you?"

Ashryn snorted. "What, in you?" She was smiling, however, as the chamber opened before them, ceiling vaulting high and carved painstakingly with the constellations so beloved by the elves. Steps led to platforms lining the hall to allow some observers to watch from above, almost at level with the carved throne of the woodland realm. The main floor was already milling with activity, advisors and aides in their finery congregating about the foot of the empty throne, the Rohan delegates clear amongst the crowd.

"I leave you here, my lady." Cassian pressed a brief kiss to the back of her hand as he inclined his head towards the courtiers. "I am obligated to notify your uncle of the faith of his favourite niece."

"Please do," Ashryn gathered up her skirts to ascend the steps to an upper level as Cassian wound his way through the crowd towards the circle of advisors around her uncle, Lord Candor: prominent military commander, influential advisor, spearhead of the interventionist movement.

The landing was fairly empty, with most of the watchers preferring to be closer to the action, so Ashryn planted herself right at the edge of a balcony, forearms resting upon the carved stone. There was a murmur of activity as a bright golden head emerged from a side door at the back of the chamber, a simple steel band upon his forehead and a forest green tunic in place of armour and weapons. The Crown Prince.

Ashryn leaned forwards in interest as her uncle instantly managed to position himself at the prince's side, light glinting off his embellished shoulder plates when he moved, a red cape swishing about his feet. She was mildly amused to watch the irritation strain Lord Candor's features as Legolas greeted the Rohan men, fist pressed over his heart. The sight of Cassian, papers almost spilling from his arms as he followed her uncle was almost enough to make her regret her teasing.

A bell chimed in the distant, drawing instant silence from the crowd as footsteps rang through the hall.

"Lords and Ladies of Eryn Lasgalen, honoured dignitaries: Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm."

The King's crown of autumn leaves preceded him onto the dais as the room sank into respectful bows and curtseys, heads lowering everywhere. "Rise," he intoned as he sank gracefully onto the throne, sleek and dangerous as a panther, staff clutched loosely in his left hand. "Honoured guests," the King addressed the finely dressed group of men at the foot of his throne. "I bid you welcome. What news do you bring of the Riddermark?"

A tall man clad in a black doublet - dull in comparison to his companions - stepped forwards, bowing elegantly, hands clasped behind his back. "Your majesty, we come as delegates of King Eomund of Rohan, and regret that our news is not as joyous as times of peace would allow."

The chamber seemed to inhale collectively, heads everywhere straining for a better look. From her perch, Ashryn watched the way her uncle directed his entire attention to the Rohirrim, his gaze sharp. Legolas, at his side, fixed his eyes upon his father.

"The threat of Sauron has been extinguished, but his forces remain. Leaderless, perhaps, but packs of orcs roaming the misty mountains are straying into the plains. They are organised, numerous, unconventionally well supplied. Our patrols aren't coming back, and Lorien is no longer a significant power - your lands are under direct threat of invasion."

A murmur coursed through the hall. There was a gleam of ambition in Lord Candor's eyes as Cassian passed him several sheets of parchment.

"I come bearing a proposal," the envoy plunged on, ignoring the unrest around him. "A brief alliance between our peoples to confront this menace and root out this problem at the source before it has the chance to grow further." He extended a sealed envelope to the aide at the foot of the throne, who hurried up the steps to present the letter.

There was a long silence as Thranduil slit open the envelope with a hunting knife, flicking through the parchment slowly before looking back down at the masses congregated before him. "250 soldiers?"

"Aye, your majesty."

"I will spare you 25."

First was disbelief on the delegates' faces, then the hints of anger. "Your majesty, double that number was slain just in the past month."

The King sat forward, icy stillness in every feature of his face. "And I will not allow elven casualties to add to that number. Greenwood's borders are secure. The blood of my people will not be shed for the security of the gap of Rohan."

Half of the group of envoys instantly turned to Legolas, who determinedly stared only at his father.

"Your majesty -"

Lord Candor's hand on the envoy's arm cut off the protestation. "My King, perhaps we can discuss this issue further at this afternoon's council meeting?"

Thranduil's ice blue eyes were dismissive despite his affirming nod. "Business will be postponed until court proceeds tomorrow. My lord, my ladies." Everyone bowed once again as the King swept from his throne in a swirl of silver, disappearing down the stairs.

Not for the first time, Ashryn found herself rather envious of the king's flexible schedule.

—

Ashryn leaned back on the couch by the window of her uncle's meeting room, veiled in shadow and watching the seats fill. The door to his study remained firmly closed, but Cassian moved amongst the guests milling about the informal couches, his particular playful charm making occasional appearances as the haze of pipe smoke slowly filled the air. The room was dimly lit by a few candles, moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains. Ashryn tipped her head back, feeling the night wind caress her waves, shutting her eyes and listening.

"… raiding along the Riddermark…"

"… Orcs on the edge of the forest…"

"… Inconclusive council meetings…"

"My lady Ashryn." The seat beside her dipped and Ashryn caught the scent of sharp forest pine. "I will not intrude upon your hospitality for long."

Ashryn cracked open an eye, a flash of blonde hair beside her glinting through the haze. "My prince," she inched herself into a sitting position. "I would not presume to deny it."

Legolas smiled slightly despite his tense features, his shoulders squared. "I wanted to check in on Drauchir's condition."

"Recovering steadily," Ashryn leaned back, draping a stray shawl around her shoulders, her voice low. "When I left this morning he was asleep. I left him some herbal brews and bread, but it will be some days yet before you can have him moving properly."

"Good," the prince replied somewhat absently, bracing his forearms on his knees and surveying the room. "Good. Thank you." Lord Candor's servants were pouring wine.

Ashryn felt a stab of concern as she assessed the stress lining Legolas's features, head tilting. "With all due respect, your highness, you need to get some rest. When was the last time you slept?"

Legolas breathed out heavily, eyes fixating on the Rohan delegate who had spoken at court earlier in the day. "A day and a half. As you may have gathered, I did not quite get sufficient rest last night." He blinked a few times. "But I am heir, and I must do my duty."

Ashryn bit her tongue, glancing once more at the door to her uncle's study, and Cassian chuckling with friends at the far end of the room. "Your duty to your king, your land, or the realm?" She met Legolas's gaze steadily, burnished gold to sapphire blue. "You know what my uncle wants."

The prince's breaths were steady as he analysed her, the instinctive twitch towards the knives at his side the only sign of discomfort. "My lady, I am perfectly aware of my position here."

Are you? Ashryn broke eye contact, shifting her skirts into a more comfortable position and feeling the comforting steel strapped along her thighs. "My lord, I know my uncle." And she knew the line between treason and idealism ran fine in this room of hazy smoke and gauzy curtains.

Legolas dropped his hands from his weapons, a clear apology lingering in his eyes - alongside evident mistrust. His head snapped up as Lord Candor finally entered the room, his imposing figure dwarfing all those seated on low couches. "I - I must go, my lady. May I beg the honour of borrowing your expertise on the morrow for some of my soldiers?"

Ashryn managed a smile as he stood. "Your wish is my command, highness." And my uncle would be ever so pleased. Finding herself lacking the heart to listen to passionate declarations concerning the state of Greenwood's policies, Ashryn rose from her perch, pressing a kiss to her uncle's cheeks before saying her brief farewells and swiftly escaping the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, the throne room's not like the movies. No, I'm not going to change it. Instead I wrote this note.


	3. Chapter 3

Ashryn felt a dreadful rush of deja vu as she opened the door the next morning, all the hair on the left side of her head sticking right up, to greet the king's son. It was barely the crack of dawn.

"Can I _help_ you?"

Legolas blinked. The rising sun gave him something akin to a halo, and a red cloak flowed from scaled armour resting upon his shoulders. "We… have an appointment?"

Ashryn grasped tightly the edge of the door, contemplating the consequences of slamming it in his face. "It is 6 in the morning."

Legolas clasped his hands behind his back. "We have an appointment."

"I'm sure it will still be morning in a few hours." Ashryn noted duly that her voice had taken on a somewhat whiny undertone. She also noted that it was too early for her to care.

The prince slid his foot into the doorway to prevent her from shutting it (this, Ashryn noted with no small degree of annoyance), and gave her an almost apologetic look. "It's urgent, my lady."

A sigh, and Ashryn stepped back to let him in. "At least you had the decency to bring the patient to me yesterday." Nudging a chair back from the table, she gestured vaguely for him to sit down. "Ten minutes. Make yourself at home."

A bit late for formalities, perhaps, Ashryn realised as she trudged up the staircase to her room, considering that he had already deemed fit to deposit a fully grown and partially dead Ellon upon her dining table the previous day, but princes couldn't be denied. She supposed that she was grateful she was not dealing with a king.

Yet.

Shedding her robe and exchanging it for practical white linen pants and an emerald green cloak to ward against the chill, Ashryn hurriedly braided back her hair (the left side was still somewhat unruly), strapped her hunting knives to her thighs, and grabbed a pouch of herbs to shove into a pocket as she descended the stairs.

Legolas had abandoned her offered chair to stand by the window, utterly still as he gazed into the forests, quiver resting by his feet, but he looked up the moment her feet hit the steps. She had never been the most light footed of elves.

"My father would be ashamed of my behaviour, but I have been told that patience is not one of my many virtues," the prince informed her.

"You will be pleased to know, then, that I don't have the ear of the king," Ashryn replied as she collected her boots from the door, sprawling on the floor to lace them up to her knees. "The meeting last night went as usual, then?"

There was a pause long enough for Ashryn to conclude that he wasn't going to answer. _She_ certainly wouldn't, had their roles been reversed. It was a very perilous time to be the sole heir to a king of dwindling popularity.

"Your uncle served good wine," finally came the response.

Ashryn grunted as she stood, smoothing down her cloak. "If it were truly good wine, you wouldn't be here until noon." And she held open the door for him as they departed.

* * *

Ashryn had expected blood and stitches, perhaps a few broken bones or dislocated joints.

Instead, she received a clearing full of expectant soldiers, some dressed in full armour, others in an assortment of leather and mail, all of them glancing uncertainly at each other and the herbs laid out on a mossy green tarp.

Almost tripping in her scramble backwards, Ashryn hurriedly steadied herself against the trunk of an oak. "I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding," she hissed at the prince, who glanced back at her with an eyebrow lifted in inquiry.

"What were you expecting?"

Waving a hand in the air wildly, Ashryn planted the other on her hip. "Death!"

Legolas flashed his teeth in a smile, turning towards his soldiers. "Your particular expertise concerns poisons, does it not?"

Speechless, Ashryn could only follow.

* * *

The councilors were fighting again.

Beneath the soaring, arched ceilings of the throne room, the king sprawled across his seat, chin resting casually upon a bejewelled wrist as he watched the lords and ladies of his realm squabble amongst themselves. Prince Legolas stood at the foot of his perch, arms crossed over his court finery and a stony mask over his features.

"Preposterous, the lot of them," Ashryn's uncle scowled from beside her, "Rohan warns of the threat of orcs and we're here discussing the trade of wine." He gesticulated angrily towards the huddle of men at the edge of the fray. "At this rate, we'll be poor, and invaded before the winter." Setting his jaw angrily, Lord Candor promptly entered the fray himself, waving his arms about aggressively. Ashryn backed away herself from the confrontation, settling against the far walls and chewing her lip as she watched. It was late afternoon – she had spent the morning running through deadly herbs and useful poisons as well as antidotes, and (very generously) donated her lunchtime to identifying spiked drinks. The sun had shifted well past its peak by the time she had shoveled down a loaf of bread, and hadn't bothered changing before accompanying her uncle to court.

At the centre of the rabble, Lord Candor shook a raised fist at what looked like Lady Lithuin, who was standing with both hands planted on her hips and yelling right back at him. Between the two, the prince looked wearily at the scene before him, while his father reclined leisurely above them, appearing to be quite amused.

"My lady, forgive me, but if we do not open our borders and initiate trading with other partners, we will never refill our royal treasury! Laketown will find some other source for their wine, the dwarves will refuse to ever bridge the widening chasm, and as a result?" He gestured dramatically at the lady's glistening earrings. "You will never, ever, find a matching necklace of moonstones for those earrings."

Lady Lithuin tilted her head up. "My lord, forgive _me_ if the court struggles to come to your view – especially after the unmitigated disasters your past proposals to this kingdom have been."

There was a low murmuring of support amongst the crowd, and Candor's gaze darkened. "Because you damned conservatives insisted on changing the plans! Last I checked, this is the fourth age, and not the second!" He spun on his heels and took several steps towards the foot of the king's throne, and the onlookers hushed as the guards put their hands upon the hilts of their swords in warning. "My king, you must -"

"Yes?" Thranduil's voice was silken steel. "What must I do, my lord? Do you presume to lecture your king?"

Candor met the king's gaze head on. "Not lecture, your majesty, but provide my honest council, as one of your councilors." A pause that was almost challenging. "Am I not still your loyal subject and advisor?"

There was a long silence as Ashryn sucked in a breath, moving around the edges of the crowd closer to her uncle, her stomach tightening in apprehension as she watched the stone cold features of the king. His eyes were chips of ice upon Candor, and the court seemed to stop breathing.

One of his guards shifted to show a strip of naked steel poking outside the scabbard. A gasp escaped her throat and Ashryn stumbled forwards towards her uncle, reaching out to pull him back and out of the reach of the sword should Thranduil give the command in his rage –

She stumbled over her skirts as a firm hand wrapped around her arm and wrenched her away unforgivingly, her own fingers grasping only empty air. "No, Ashryn," came the hiss in her ear as the prince drew her back, keeping her firmly in her place. "Are you mad?"

"Let me go!" Ashryn whispered back harshly, lashing out with her free hand towards Legolas, which he also stopped with the practiced strength of a warrior veteran, jaw tight with warning.

"Take him from my sight," Thranduil's order came imperiously from above, already turning away. "And do not let him back within it until he learns the error of his actions. I will not suffer the words of insolent fools."

The crowd parted obediently, the guards took him by his biceps, and marched him from the hall, thrashing violently. "You call me a fool? Me?" A laugh that was almost manic, as Ashryn went limp in the prince's grasp. "Wait and see! You and your court of frivolous, dancing clowns, don't come crying back when you wake up and find that your halls are barren, your robes threadbare, and yo -" The door slammed, and the guards tossed Candor bodily from the hall.

Silence followed, and Ashryn barely registered the release of pressure from her upper arms as she turned, along with her fellow courtiers, back to their king. "I think that concludes today's session. My Lady Lithuin, please remain. The rest of you -" He waved a glittering hand, and the court filed obediently from the hall.

Like a group of ducklings following their mother, Ashryn thought bitterly as she turned from the prince pointedly and went after her uncle.

—

"Ashryn! Ashryn, wait, _Ashryn!_ "

Stopping so suddenly that Cassian almost fell in his haste to comply, she whipped around, cloak swirling around her ankles. "What do you want?"

"What are you _doing?_ "

The rage in his eyes took Ashryn by complete surprise as she faced him, almost unable to find the words. "Excuse me?"

Cassian gestured towards the violent hoofprints in the mud where Lord Candor had galloped away on his horse into the forests, grey eyes cold. "What are you trying to achieve? You've never cared what your uncle does in court, and now you're making a scene trying to protect him and -"

" _I_ made a scene?" Ashryn demanded, confused at the attack Cassian was mounting, but now furious. " _I made a scene?_ After what happened, that's what you're so obsessed with?"

"This is the first time you've ever done something like this in court -"

"Oh, I'm so sorry I haven't had a prior opportunity to try stop my uncle from being decapitated in front of a crowd!"

"All I'm saying is -"

"I don't care what you have to say! He's family!"

"And you've never cared before!"

Unable to help the gasp that escaped her mouth, Ashryn took a step forwards, voice low. "How _dare_ you." Slamming a palm into his chest with enough force for Cassian to take a few steps back to steady himself, she shot him a look so venomous that he retreated even further. "You can plot with him as much as you like, but he is _my_ family and _you_ don't get to decide what I do. You understand?"

Ever her equal, Cassian squared his shoulders, jaw working furiously, right hand clasped on the hilt of his sword. "Make up your _damn_ mind, Ashryn. You either support us, or you don't."

Twisting her palms and unsheathing a knife just enough for Cassian to hear the scrape of steel, Ashryn bared her teeth at her oldest friend. "Don't tell me what to do." Not bothering to turn sideways, she barged past him with her shoulder and headed for the stables.

—

The forest was blanketed in velvety night by the time that Ashryn reached her uncle's estate at the foot of the mountains. Lights shone from the upper level windows, and she could make out shadows flitting past.

The stables were full, she observed with no small amount of apprehension as she tied her horse by the paddocks, murmuring a thanks and foraging around until she found a small basket of apples. Laughter filtered faintly through the air as she listened to the crunches of the stallion, leaning against the fence to catch her breath. Cassian's response had shaken her more than she would have liked to admit, and perhaps that was why Ashryn lingered out in the dark, almost unwilling to enter her childhood home.

She stayed until the basket was empty and the stallion began nudging at her shoulder for more, and with each passing minute the likelihood of Cassian appearing for what obviously was a meeting of her uncle's friends and allies increased, so with a sigh of trepidation, Ashryn gathered up the folds of her cloak and headed for the doors. They swung open silently at her gentle push, closing just as efficiently behind her. Gentle flames illuminated the path up the stairs, piano music descending to greet her as she climbed.

She could hear the telltale 'clink' of glasses even through the heavy wooden doors leading to the formal dining hall as she steeled her nerves, raising a hand to the ornately carved handles – breathing in deeply – and pushing it open just wide enough for her to slip through.

A party.

A quartet of musicians sat in the far-right corner, right beside the grand piano dominating the end of the hall. Ashryn counted around just under a hundred or so guests, many of them notable members of the nobility or military, mingling about the large space and surrounded by several smaller tables lining the edges of the hall.

Plush red velvet marked Lord Candor commanding the attention of a small group of elves, many of them sporting shiny medals upon their chest, sitting at a table as close to the center of the hall as possible. Ashryn bunched the skirts of her cloak in her hands as she approached behind her uncle, waiting for the rapturous laugher (it appeared that Lady Esmerelda had conveyed a particularly humorous remark) to die before gentling tapping him on the shoulder.

"Ashryn!" Spots of red in Candor's cheeks and the sheer enthusiasm which he greeted her showed that he had, once more, broken out the good wine. "Darling, won't you play us a suite? It is such a wonderful evening for wonderful music -"

"Actually, I was hoping to speak to you, uncle," Ashryn cut him off, something she rarely dared when he was sober. A general across the table raised an eyebrow.

The lord was surprisingly steady on his feet when Ashryn tugged insistently on his elbow, waving good naturedly at his companions as she drew him just out of earshot. "What is it?"

Ashryn bit her lip hesitantly before fixing Candor with a serious stare, still gripping his elbow. "You need to be careful, uncle."

That did the trick. Candor met her gaze steadily. "I'm not sure what you're implying, Ashryn."

"I am not implying," Ashryn snapped, seeing the clear surprise which registered at her remarks – reproach had never come from his niece concerning his political stances and actions before. "You need to be _careful_ ," she repeated concisely, "the next time you say something like that to the king, it's your head on the line." She heard distinctively above the plucking of the harp in the background a shrill scrape of metal, again and again.

Candor appeared unsure at how to respond to Ashryn's sudden interest in his political decisions. "I know what I'm doing, niece," he replied with patronising fondness alongside just a touch of frustration.

"Really?" The challenge burst from Ashryn's lips before she quite realised it and had to fight the urge to step away. "It didn't look like you did earlier today."

Anger. Wrath. "I will thank you," Candor said softly, every syllable lined with fury, "to refrain from criticising that which you know naught of."

"I know what it looks like before someone is about to be executed for treason," Ashryn retorted. Waited for the remark to sink in. Watched the rage properly pronounce on her uncle's features, as the word _treason_ floated through the air.

"Are you calling me a traitor?"

"No, but you are acting as foolishly as one."

Candor's hand slashed through the air towards her as Ashryn ducked instinctively to avoid the blow she knew was coming –

But it was not the sound of the slap against her skin which drowned out the music, but the resounding _crash_ of the doors being flung wide open.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Welcome back everyone! Hope life is jolly and merry in spite of being broke as a result of Christmas shopping :)
> 
> Reviews are joy - and without further ado...

The sheer force with which the grand double doors were flung open caused them to both ricochet off the walls and back again, pronounced dents now marked on both sides.

Ashryn took several steps to steady herself as she recovered from the speed with which she dodged her uncle's blow, and as a result was much slower than the rest of the room to focus upon the newcomer, to whom the attention was now drawn: Cassian was dripping all over the hardwood floor, so saturated in water it was uncertain whether it was sweat or rain which had soaked him. He seemed quite unable to speak, chest rising and falling rapidly as he gasped for breath, a hand on the edge of the left door. Even from her significant distance, Ashryn could clearly see his pupils, so dilated that only the barest hint of grey was shown.

"What is it?" Only a millisecond seemed to pass before Candor disappeared from her side and materialised before Cassian, both hands on his shoulder and shaking so hard that droplets scattered through the hair. "What is it?" A repetition. " _What is it?"_ Again. " _Speak, Cassian!"_

The sound of his name seemed to shake the protegee out of whatever horrified reverie which had consumed him, and Ashryn could almost see him take a firm grasp on his thoughts as he released to door to stand without support. "The king suspects this meeting, but he has no proof of what is occurring. The prince is leading a party to question intentions."

For a second, the lord appeared almost frozen, before letting out a booming laugh at absolute odds with the situation. "He sends the _prince_? Of all people…" Another chuckle, almost involuntary. "What in the world were you so afraid of, boy?"

Cassian shook his head, utter seriousness writ on every feature. "He is not alone. Lord Mecheneb and Lady Lithuin ride with him. And a score soldiers follow them."

"He suspects Legolas?"

"No, he fears for him," Cassian corrected. "That's why Lord Mecheneb accompanies him."

"And Lithuin?"

"She stands high in his favour. He trusts her."

Candor was grinding his teeth together. "If she thinks she can usurp my position, she's very much mistaken."

 _Hasn't she already?_ Ashryn approached warily, not quite daring to voice the thought which would quite surely earn her a punishment.

"Your guests should leave," Cassian urged, glancing around the room at the multitude of elves present. "If there's nothing to find -"

"Are you daft?" Ashryn's snap caused Cassian to flinch, both of them still reeling somewhat from their earlier fight. "Fleeing suggests guilt. You have nothing to hide."

"Oh, so you aren't part of this now?" The comment was laced with vicious sarcasm.

"You mistake my intentions," Ashryn replied slowly, fighting to keep her tone steady. "Disbanding now not only implies that this was a treasonous gathering, but also jeopardises whatever source you received this information from." They all knew plainly who had informed Cassian. "The wiser path -"

Three loud knocks rung clearly from downstairs.

Her uncle's face darkened, and he instantly departed from their sides, stalking with impressive speed for the stairs.

Swinging around, Ashryn gesticulated at the quartet of musicians. "Keep playing!" It took several more moments of startled silence, but the harpist led with a few tentative notes, before his companions joined him. Turning back on her heel, she, too, exited the room.

Cassian was ahead of her, descending quickly (most likely to get away from her), Ashryn following at a slower pace. It would be all too easy to give up the whole plot to those who waited outside, but despite the clear tensions drifting between her, Cassian, and her uncle, she had not lied in her assertions that Candor was family. And whilst their methods were far from satisfactory, she could not quite say that their ideas were without merit.

And so, when she reached the bottom of the staircase, seeing the fury which immediately alit upon her uncle's face at the sight of Lady Lithuin, Ashryn adopted her most charming smile, hurried forwards merrily, and tugged insistently on his arm (elbowing past Cassian as she did so). In doing so, she positioned herself squarely in the doorway, Candor just behind her as she curtseyed awkwardly to the three figures before her, all the while keeping a firm grip on his arm. "My apologies, my Lady Lithuin; my lord Mecheneb; your highness. I'm afraid my uncle is drunk."

This was not the welcome they were expecting: Legolas had at least the tact to maintain a neutral expression, but blatant shock registered on the general Mecheneb's face, and Lady Lithuin looked genuinely taken aback at the lack of confrontation.

"Perhaps I could offer you some refreshments? We have red wine should you wish to taste some, and I would be most honoured if I could perform a short musical piece to welcome you to my uncle's hall. Our curtesy would surely not have been so lacking if we knew you were coming." Pulling hard, Ashryn cleared the doorway for the three, stepping to one side.

The prince wore a strange smile as he gestured for Lady Lithuin and the general to enter before him. "My lady, we will not stay long. It was never our intention to intrude upon your hospitality, but we were hoping to speak with your uncle."

"It is not a problem!" Ashryn assured with suitable cheeriness, waving for Cassian to show them up the stairs. "Some light refreshments, and we will be honoured to join you." A bashful look at the other two guests. "My presence may not have been required, but as I said, my uncle is quite drunk, but Cassian here and I may be able to provide whatever information you lack." The benefits of keeping to herself throughout the years meant that the general could not quite gleam the fact that she was acting quite significantly out of character, and the lady Lithuin had not crossed paths with Ashryn for quite some time.

General Mecheneb was too polite to reject her presence or her instructions, and Cassian led the party into the stairwell.

In the end, Ashryn decided against serenading the trio with a tryst on the piano (that masy have been a bit much), instead directing them into a small chamber, a more intimate dining room of sorts. Cassian produced a bottle of wine; Ashryn lit the candles; and they sat on either side of Lord Candor, facing their guests.

"Why do you think we are here, my lord?" General Mecheneb wasted no time as he leaned forwards from his seat across from Ashryn, directly addressing her uncle. The general looked almost weary, the famed greatsword which usually sat across his back leaning against the side of the table.

Lord Candor gave a lopsided shrug. "On the orders of the king?"

"Let us not dally," Legolas spoke up, bracing his elbows on the table. "We are, indeed, here on behalf of my father the King. You crossed a line today, my lord. You may be a senior member of the nobility; however, this does not excuse your conduct. In fact, some would argue that your position makes your transgression all the more serious." His blue eyes were frozen, the blue of deep ice." He paused, but neither his companions or Lord Candor moved to fill the silence. "But our objective tonight is to compromise." Nodding to the Lady Lithuin seated to his right, Legolas waved a hand absently.

As if on cue, the lady began to speak. "You may not like me or what I am about to say, my lord, but I hope you would listen."

The lord nodded. Grimly, reluctantly, but nodded nonetheless, and Ashryn relaxed her clenched fists from underneath the table. (Given her uncle's behaviour, perhaps she needn't have played up his drunkenness).

"You are perhaps the most powerful advisor in this kingdom," Lady Lithuin began, speaking softly and swiftly. "You hold land, troops, and influence, disproportionate to your fellow councillors. There are those who would argue that you hold too much power."

"How is this relevant?" Candor blustered, "does my power somehow negate the validity of my arguments?"

Lithuin held up a hand. "I am not finished," she replied so evenly that Ashryn felt a rush of admiration (and no small amount of vindictive delight) as her uncle grudgingly fell silent.

"Your power does not in any way detract from your counsel, but what it does generate is unease. You are the only lord or lady in our kingdom who commands military, economic, _and_ significant political power, and you are the only person apart from the king who had sufficient influence to single-handedly make decisions with widespread repercussions. This, my lord, is not conducive to a fair system of governance."

"So, what you're saying is that I am too powerful, and thus my suggestions are met with mistrust?"

"Let her speak," the General snapped.

The Lady smiled grimly. "I am merely outlaying the situation. You complain that your plans fail because they are altered by the court, but have you considered what may come to pass if you are not weathered by your equals? How much would your power grow? How would the rest of the nobility ever have a say in our governance?"

"It is not my fault that I am powerful."

"No, but it is when you refuse to allow the input of others. Which brings us to our objective tonight – you are the champion of the interventionist faction. You know this, I know this, and the King knows this. Intervention, however, if synonymous with interference. Our jurisdiction ends with these forests, and Middle Earth is home to various kingdoms, all of which hold power over their own lands. We are not responsible for these lands and straying into them can very possibly bring troubles onto our own doorstep.

"We are not a significant military power, my lord, as General Mecheneb would tell you. We are far from densely populated, and we are a largely peaceful people. War has dogged our history. I would hope to prevent it from defining our future."

Ashryn watched her uncle pause, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. "You talk of violence, but what of trade?" The question was lilting in its challenge. "Opening our borders promotes prosperity."

"Opening our borders promotes dependence," Lithuin responded, "and reliance upon the stability of these partners."

"But keeping them shut prevents the possibility of expansion!"

"Which returns us to our original discussion," Lithuin took a small sip of wine. "What if we initiate once more trade with Laketown? What if we build a strong relationship, and are honour bound to defend them upon the threat of attack? Again, my lord, we are not a significant military power. The age of the elves on Middle Earth is over. Why not let it pass? We can be self-sufficient, self-contained, not drawn into continuous conflicts of men. I, for one, would like to sail and see the Undying Lands. I would like my son to experience the same, instead of perishing on the battlefield in a fight that we could have avoided."

There was a long silence, before Cassian spoke up tentatively. "But, my lady, we are still defenders of the light. And orcs are raiding along the plains."

"The men are the defenders of the light, now. Prince Legolas and the lords Elladan and Elrohir paid tribute to the apex of the elves' power by fighting in the War of the Ring, but the majority of our peoples stayed home. Greenwood fought, yes, but our regiments were sent out against direct threats to our lands." Lithuin's stormy grey eyes flashed, and for just a moment, her presence seemed to overshadow even the silent general. "This is not our fight."

Lord Candor opened his mouth to refute her, but the lady stood up somewhat abruptly. "I know what you will say, my lord, but it is late, and we have a long ride ahead of us." Both the Prince and General stood with her. "I ask only that you think on what I have said. The King welcomes you back to court."

Candor laughed darkly. "His Majesty is ever so gracious."

"Careful, my lord," Legolas warned. "His Majesty is your King, and he seeks only the best for his people."

Ashryn could tell exactly what sardonic remark was itching to burst from both Cassian and her uncle, so she rose hurriedly to her feet. "Allow me to show you to the door," she inched past Candor (who made a habit of pushing his chair back far enough to stretch his legs) and waved the three into the hall.

The General wasted no time in heading into the stairwell, but both Lady Lithuin and Prince Legolas slowed to walk beside her, the lady in particular wearing a weary smile. "I am grateful that he listened," she sighed, "but I do not expect him to be convinced."

"Perhaps I am not the one you ought to be saying this to, my lady," Ashryn replied lightly as she stopped by the door.

Lithuin laughed. "I knew both your parents, Ashryn, and your father in particular would have said the same. You are their child, not your uncle's." She did not wait for a reply before slipping out of the door and heading immediately for her horse, whose reins the General was holding out.

"A moment, please," Legolas waved to his companions. General Mecheneb shot Ashryn a mistrustful glance, but obeyed.

For a moment, only the wind whistling across drying leaves filled the silence. Suddenly uncomfortable, Ashryn leaned against the doorway, eyeing the prince with uncertainty.

"Family," Legolas breathed out finally, "does not guarantee loyalty."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Ashryn replied instantly.

The Prince crossed his arms. "We are very much the same, my lady, and yet somehow different." (Had Ashryn not know better, she would swear he seemed somewhat intoxicated.) "I love my father. He is my only remaining kin. Perhaps I can simultaneously defy and respect him because I do not depend upon him."

That stung. "Your crown does."

He chuckled. "In a way." Again, the whisper of leaves. "The world is not so much black and white as it once seemed." He tilted his head up at the stars. "If I didn't know better, I would almost say that everything is easier in war."

"Is that why you've brought Greenwood back into one?"

Ashryn did not expect the laugh that followed. "I should have listened to Cassian when he told me to tell you it was a training mishap."

"You are playing a dangerous game, my prince," she replied lowly.

"I am not playing games at all," Legolas shot back.

Ashryn shook her head. "I do not want to be involved," she said tiredly, "my mother died fighting away from home. My uncle seems determined to do the same, and you should not be confiding in my family." _Especially not behind your father's back._

"My lord," Lady Lithuin called out, both she and the General mounted on their horses.

"A minute more," Legolas requested, holding out a hand. "Your uncle is a dangerous ally, my father a dangerous enemy, but I – we - have our duties."

"We have already discussed duty. It is subjective."

"I do not trust Cassian," Legolas plunged on, seeming to disregard her interruption. "I trust your uncle less, and I am very much uncertain about you. Duty. Family. Even Honour. Think of it, my lady."

Ashryn shook her head. "If you do not trust my uncle, you should not trust me."

Legolas shrugged with nonchalant confidence. "Think of it, my lady." He repeated as he bowed neatly, drawing her left hand forward to press a soft kiss against its back. "Duty, family, and honour."

Ashryn watched him leave for his snowy white mare, brushing a hand through her silky mane as he swung onto her back, raising a hand in farewell before leading his two companions back into the woods.

His kiss lingered against her hand like a promise.

 _Duty, family, honour._ The wooden doorway dug unforgivingly into Ashryn's back, the dull pain only just registering against her spine, but she couldn't seem to move. _Duty, family, honour_. There, in the velvet night, Ashryn felt the words swirling with the leaves, and knew -maybe even lamented - that they were as incongruous as oil simmering on water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter felt so awkward to write, and I sincerely hope it didn't read as such (I've reread it so many times nothing registers in my brain anymore). I did my best to illustrate the nuance in opinions and policies, as well as the lingering mistrust which defines the factions of the Greenwood court.
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> Silver


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! I must warn you in advance that half of this chapter was conceived in a pre - exam results release panic, and the other half in breaks between numerous naps in recovery of the aforementioned panic. I am not responsible for any of this.
> 
> Reviews are love!

The clock read past midnight as Ashryn slipped back into the abandoned great hall, the moonlight spilling through the windows and casting the floor in stripes of silver.

The plates had been cleared – the tables were clean, spotless. She had not attempted to sleep following the departure of the Prince's party, electing instead to linger about the halls, taking care to avoid the guest wing. It was the darkest hour of the night.

Ashryn felt duly the brush of her cloak against her ankles as she drifted amongst the empty tables, the swish of fabric the only sound apart from the faintest whispers of wind. The stone floor was bitterly cold on her bare feet, and quite suddenly, Ashryn felt as though she understood what it was to be a ghost.

The realisation came with the pressing urge to make some noise – any noise – just to remind herself that she existed.

The first notes on the grand piano were horribly jarring. She had quite simply slammed her left hand onto the keys, forming a graceless cacophony of pure chaos. She held down the notes, however, somehow relishing in the grating noise until it faded, allowing the rough harmony to ground her wandering thoughts. There were several moments of silence before Ashryn dared to bring her right hand onto the keys and tentatively move through the scales.

_Family._

One of her very earliest memories was at the piano, sitting in her father's lap, fingers not quite strong enough to press down the keys: Lord Vallador had been Candor's younger brother, a peerless scholar and strategist, but he had often assured Ashryn that his greatest passions were for music and his family. The clear notes of the piano drew back memories of gentle green eyes and lazy evenings, punctuated by her own breathless laughter as she tried to interrupt her father's playing by batting at his fingers.

It had been three thousand years, but her own fingers remembered.

Lady Rhoslyn laughed easily and often and rode like the wind. She was a nimble dancer, forever spinning to Lord Vallador's lively suites, raising Ashryn above her head with the strength of Greenwood's finest cavalry officer. She fell on the Gladden Fields, under the command of her brother in law as ordered by the King. They arrived too late to staunch the slaughter of the Dúnedain: Isildur had fled; his only remaining heir Elendur clubbed to death and buried under the bodies of his comrades.

Lady Rhoslyn, Ashryn heard during the eulogy, chased off several orcs seeking to further mutilate the bodies of the fallen, before her horse was shot down from beneath her. She did not outlast the stallion.

Lord Vallador's love for his family was his own downfall. Ashryn had sat next to her uncle at the funeral, hands clasped tightly in her lap, as someone – something – commended the bravery of her father's final stand, cutting a bloody path through the straggling orcs, deviating far from the rest of the troops, driven by grief and fury. He, too, was slain on that fateful battlefield, the broken corpse of his wife cradled in his arms.

They covered up the wounds at the funeral, but Ashryn could still smell the death. It had been the second year of a new age.

The music stopped, and Ashryn realised, too late, that the dampness on the keys were from her own tears.

It had been three thousand years, but she could never forget.

The faint creak of a door opening broke through the haze, but Ashryn didn't bother to wipe away the tears nor turn to face whoever entered the room. "Good morning," she greeted hoarsely.

Cassian had a chair with him, which he deposited lightly beside the piano stool, dark hair ruffled. There was a long silence as neither of them looked at each other.

"Remember the day we met?" The words were soft, but startling nonetheless after such a long silence as Cassian bent forwards, resting his elbows on his thighs.

"You threw up on my shoes," Ashryn replied drily, sliding the lid down over the piano keys gently.

Cassian cracked just the hint of a smile. "I did apologise for that." A few heartbeats. "I appear to owe you another."

"Oh, Cass." Ashryn exhaled heavily. 'I don't need an apology." She closed her eyes, bracing her forehead against the coolness of the piano. "There are worse things."

And so there were. Lilies had lined the caskets, masking the smell of blood. Cassian's silence weighed heavily on her own, remembering. "I wish we never met."

"That won't bring them back, Cassian," Ashryn said gently.

Cassian was quiet, fists clenching and unclenching. "I just – I _know_ that it won't, but I think about how it was only _after_ that -" He broke off, exhaling. "I am not ungrateful." He murmured finally, features stark against the moonlight. "I owe everything – _everything –_ to your uncle. He didn't have to take me in, not the way he was bound to take you, but he did, and he trained me and fed me and taught me, but I just _wish -"_ He broke off, breathing harshly. "Do you think she even cared?"

Ashryn knew instantly then that it was the anniversary of his mother's death. "You know I can't answer that," she replied, reaching out to grip one of his hands. Grief had filled Serelle's pockets with stones and driven her into the river rapids; her body retrieved only days after the funeral which celebrated all that had been Cassian's father as well as Ashryn's parents.

"He should have made you his heir," Cassian spat out bitterly, but clutched her hand in both his own like a lifeline.

Ashryn shrugged. "I'm not interested in being his heir, nor am I made to be. That's your future, Cass, and it does not do to dwell on the past."

" _Gods_ ," Cassian swore, head lifting to meet her gaze. "I wish you could just be more irrational."

Ashryn laughed, a clear sound, brief but with the hints of joy. "If I were truly as rational as you think I am, I wouldn't be sitting here crying over a piano." She sat up straight. "It's late, and I would like to leave this estate tomorrow morning. We both ought to be in bed."

Cassian released her hand, nodding wearily. "Thanks, Ashryn."

"Not a problem," Ashryn rose to her feet somewhat unsteadily, patting Cassian gently on the shoulder before departing the room.

* * *

In hindsight, Ashryn just _knew_ that she should have refused.

But eight hours later, elbow deep in poison, a large chunk of hair scattered somewhere on the forest floor, and with a bone deep pain in her right ankle, she could only regret.

It all began with a truly atrocious breakfast: she had tossed and turned for barely three hours before slinking off to dining room, only to find that her uncle had set up a platter in his study. Following that was a barrage of wine-soaked apologies as Ashryn drank three mugs of steaming black coffee in quick succession, so dazed that she inadvertently agreed to accompany a small group of elves on a patrol to investigate orc presence near Greenwood. _First-hand experience concerning the state of our lands,_ he called it. _Coercion into championing his cause,_ she knew it was.

She was exhausted and hadn't the energy to say no.

Thus, another half hour later saw her in the courtyard, bathed in the cold grey light of morning, Candor smiling eagerly from where he leaned against the fence. She moved through the straps and saddles with a dull rhythm, brushing the coat of the stallion lethargically, not even bothering to greet the trio of elves who filtered into the yard, chattering amongst themselves.

"You are not to engage, am I clear?" Her uncle's voice was steady as he clapped Cassian on the back. "We are not yet capable of fully investing into this conflict."

"As you say, my lord," Cassian replied cheerfully, "will the lady be joining us?"

Ashryn groaned. " _Someone_ has to stitch your pieces back together," she swung up into the saddle. "Will we be returning here or to the city?" She was rather eager to check if Drauchir, the injured ellon in her house, was still in her guestroom.

"The city," Candor asserted, moving to open the gates. "I too must return."

"Until then," Cassian dipped his head, pressing his chestnut mare into a trot. Somewhat reluctantly, Ashryn followed.

The next few hours were a blur of trees, leaves, trees, and grass. She loved the forest – she did – along with all its cheerful birdsongs and rustles of squirrels hurtling through the undergrowth, but she was bone tired, the weight of exhaustion heavy on her shoulders. Cassian, on the other hand, chattered cheerfully with his companions as he led the way through familiar paths, sitting straight in his saddle.

To Cassian's left rode Anduillon: courteous, practical, dependable as stone, with hair of russet brown braided simply away from his face. To the right was Daemon of the city watch, an accomplished captain of the order with a rough strap of leather tied around his dark mop of a ponytail, fierce and cunning as a mountain cat.

Ashryn trotted behind, half asleep in her seat even as they headed steadily south: What had once entirely been under the rule of Thranduil had been halved following the war, given over to men and East Lorien, until the elves of the south filtered away and the men drifted back into the open plains to which they owed their histories and traditions. That race had never adapted to the forests.

Now, it was but branches and leaves – and, allegedly, orcs.

"If you don't mind me asking, my lady, what is your purpose on our patrol today?" Anduillon had fallen back to ride beside her, bow slung over his shoulder.

Ashryn grunted her response. "My lord uncle kindly asked it of me."

"Why?" The blunt question came from Daemon, still riding at Cassian's side but looking back at her curiously, head tilted.

"What do you mean, _why_?" Ashryn frowned, words clipped.

Daemon checked his pace to slot in to her right, leaving Cassian at the head of their patrol. "Well," he looked her over, gaze critical in its assessment. "Why would you agree? From what I've seen, you don't appear to have the most cordial relationship."

Ashryn felt awake so suddenly that it was unsettling. Daemon's dark eyes were well guarded, and she could feel Anduillon's keen curiosity at her left.

It was Cassian, however, who replied. "Would you care to elaborate, Daemon?"

"Last night, for starters, didn't appear to be a display of familial love."

Well it was inevitable that someone would have seen, Ashryn supposed. "I provoked him."

"Are you defending his actions?"

"I am explaining," Ashryn corrected Daemon's whip fast retort. "He clashed with the king, drank far too much wine, and I implied he was a traitor. He had to snap sometime, and I will be infinitely grateful that it was directed at me and not the King in court."

"Lord Candor ought not have snapped at all," came Anduillon's mild observation.

Ashryn twined her fingers absently in the stallion's mane. "His actions _were_ unacceptable," she allowed, "but I cannot change the fact that they were carried out nonetheless."

"What are you talking about?" Cassian broke in, halted in the path as he stared back at them, forehead creased. "What happened? What actions?"

Ashryn hesitated. Cassian practically _worshipped_ Candor – as some combination of a father, god, and saviour, who had been a steady, supportive presence throughout both their childhoods. She saw the dark ambition – had seen it tinged with grief and desperation – but Cassian had not. Candor's actions had not come as a shock – to Ashryn.

"Lady Ashryn confronted Lord Candor at the dinner last night," Anduillon spoke up finally. "He was angry – and yes, drunk, as the lady said. He tried to strike her."

Silence.

The three studied Cassian's frozen features with differing levels of interest: Anduillon was somewhat abashed; Ashryn apprehensive; and Daemon almost with pity.

"Are – are you _certain_?"

Daemon nodded brusquely, but Cassian looked only at Ashryn.

"I believe so," she said quietly, watching him watch her.

"You did not tell me."

"No."

"Were you going to?"

"No."

"No?"

"It was not your burden to bear."

"And who are you to decide that?"

"Someone who knows you better than you know yourself."

"Oh, really?" Cassian's face was twisted into a snarl as he urged his horse forwards, threateningly close. "Well you were _wrong_!" The final word came as a shout which sent birds flying into the air, Anduillon's horse skittering.

Ashryn couldn't help the flinch, but she stubbornly stood her ground. "Your reaction is proving me right."

"You had no _right_ to keep this from me!" The grey of Cassian's eyes was so dark they seemed black as he waved an arm angrily in the air, and yet Ashryn knew that it was only to hide his own turmoil as he struggled to find within his image of his benevolent guardian the capacity to strike a relative. "None!" The assertion was weaker than it ought to have been, and he knew it. " _None!_ "

"Quiet!" Daemon's voice snapped like a whip. Anduillon's bow was strung and loaded with an arrow, pointed steadily into the bushes.

Cassian froze. _Footsteps._

Ashryn drew her knife, heart thudding like a drum in her chest: the woods were utterly silent, but for the rough steps which came in perfect conjunction with the beat.

_Ba - boom. Ba - boom._

Daemon held up two fingers.

 _Scouts,_ Anduillon mouthed as Daemon flipped back a small throwing knife in his palm. Where there were scouts, there came a battalion.

_Ba – boom. Ba – boom._

"Trees," Ashryn breathed, "we cannot kill them all."

"We do not even know how big this party may be," Cassian hissed back. "We could take them."

"Or we could _not_ ," Ashryn retorted. _Ba – boom. Ba – boom._ "Let the horses go. We go up."

Anduillon nodded. Then Daemon.

_Ba – boom. Ba – boom._

Ashryn counted sixteen heartbeats: sixteen heartbeats to acquire Cassian's reluctant compliance and wait for the leaves to stop rustling as the four elves scaled the gnarled, great, oaks which grew thirty meters high, watching their horses flee.

_Ba – boom. Ba – boom._

They could hear the rough, cracking, blundering of dark creatures through the undergrowth, trampling the shrubs underfoot as they neared the path. Ashryn was tense as the bowstring which Anduillon kept nocked and aimed below, perched steadily on a wide branch.

_Ba – boom. Ba – boom._

It was so damn loud _–_ they were so damn _loud_ – she couldn't fathom how any creatures could make so much noise –

And the arrow took Daemon clean through the leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered delaying this update in order to avoid the cliffhanger, but hey, we never make great choices, do we?  
> ;)
> 
> Until next time -
> 
> Silver


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? An update? So quick?
> 
> Yes, yes it is. Enjoy :)

To his everlasting credit, Daemon made no sound but a choked gasp of pain as he staggered against the trunk, his left leg crumpling beneath him, leaves falling about and showering Ashryn on the branch below.

For a moment, everything was still –

And then, the horn.

This was not the rallying call of the woodland realm, but the one which heralded darkness, fury, death.

_Malice._

Ashryn did not know where they came from.

They had heard the scouts coming – but in their arrogance, they had not suspected that they had walked right into a trap. They had stopped in a wider segment of the path, almost a clearing in truth with soaring trees lining the sides, the trees in which they now sought refuge, surrounded by the bushes which had hidden the ambush.

Thirty – forty – forty five orcs crashed through the wood, adding their own shrieks and roars to the haunting hellhorn, all of them shoving at each other to crowd against the trunks which held the elves, waving jagged scythes and swords in the air. She counted perhaps three bows, all of which could have been responsible for the wounded Daemon, grasping at the main trunk with knuckles white as bone with one hand, the other clasped tightly at his thigh, crimson blood trickling through his fingers.

A drop found Ashryn’s head, another her shoulder.

Two orcs went down in quick succession, arrows piercing their eyes. A third, one of the archers, dropped even as he drew an arrow of his own.

“Can they climb?” Ashryn shouted to Anduillon, who was positioned steadily on a juncture between two large branches, firing and reloading with deadly speed.

An arrow whipped wide of Anduillon’s head as he nocked one of his own, deathly calm. “I do not think so, but we cannot be sure.”

Another drop of blood splattered at her feet, and Ashryn’s attention narrowed on the wounded – the only one she could help - leaping nimbly for a branch, swinging herself up swiftly to settle beside Daemon, his face tight with pain.

“Clean through,” Daemon hissed, his fingers stained red. His brown leather pants were black with blood.

Ashryn twisted to gain a better seat on the trunk, batting aside Daemon’s hand to get a better look at the wound. “Don’t count yourself lucky just yet,” she warned, ducking low to make herself a smaller target even as she leaned forwards for a better look at the wound. “I can’t take a proper look at it in this situation,” she shook her head, grabbing a fistful of her cloak to cut a strip off the bottom. “I can only bind it for now. We need to get out of here.”

“That,” Daemon ground out, each syllable well laced with pain, “may be somewhat difficult.”

Indeed. Their only stroke of luck was that the orc patrol didn’t seem fully proficient with the bow – the three archers appeared to be the only ones capable of using them, and Anduillon had already shot down one – now two. But there remained some thirty to forty bloodthirsty creatures who would likely hound their steps through the forests, and with Daemon incapacitated, it was unlikely they would outrun them in time to receive help.

The horn blew again, mounting the group into a frenzy. They smelt blood.

Ashryn felt the fear, acute in her chest and spreading through her veins, paralysing, consuming, with every beat of a spear on shield. For the first time, she realised that not all four of them may return alive.

“Whatever you are thinking,” Daemon snapped at her, “stop it. Time enough for that later.”

She stared, blinked, and stared some more.

“Your quiver!” Anduillon’s voice cracked across them to Cassian, crouched another tree over. The archer’s own was empty, his bow held loosely in his hands. 

From her place next to Daemon, Ashryn could only see Cassian’s face, his body hidden in foliage, grey eyes darting across the orc pack and his jaw tight with rage. Something flashed in the air: Cassian’s own quiver spun across branches to land safely in Anduillon’s grasp, and in one fluid motion, he had planted the arrows at his feet, drawn and loosed in an instant.

Ashryn’s fingers moved with a speed she hadn’t thought them capable of as she looped the shred of fabric just upwards of the wound, tying and knotting it before she had fully comprehended what she was doing. Blood was still seeping from Daemon’s pants, now dripping down – down –

_Uirdae._

The plant was a low growing one, thick of root and wide of leaf, with large jagged edges stained a ghastly green purple. The elves named it the eternal shadow – _uirdae_ – and aptly so. It was only a small plant, but if she could somehow gather it and crush it and scatter it from the trees –

“ _Cassian!_ ” Ashryn called out to the ellon, whose head snapped to her instantly as she pointed down at the plant, confusion in his eyes as he looked from her to the shrub and back again, uncomprehending. “Cover me!”

A flash of understanding as Ashryn readied herself to swing over the edge of the branch. “Don’t you _dare -”_

And she was falling. Something _hissed_ over her head, crude steel burying itself hilt deep in the trunk behind her, and Ashryn’s heart was pounding as she narrowly avoided a scalping but parted with a thick lock of hair as she hit the ground in a roll, coming up and slashing out neatly with both knives, catching an orc in the throat.

Daemon was laughing out loud above, matched in volume only by Cassian’s curses as he, too, plummeted off his own branch, landing neatly beside her and bowling into combat, sword drawn and defending her. Arrows from above pierced those few orcs closest to them as Ashryn wrapped her hand in her cloak, sawed off the whole handful of plant, and clutched it tightly into a ball.

Anduillon’s methodical shooting had perhaps taken out fifteen before Ashryn and Cassian had landed, and their combined efforts now left twenty-five or so forming a loose semicircle around the pair, Cassian’s sword before him and Ashryn wielding a knife in one hand, _uirdae_ wrapped in her cloak in the other.

“Whatever it is you have in that cloak, use it!” Cassian shouted at her even though they were all of half a meter apart, lunging forwards with a stab that sent the closest orcs backing away. Arrows sprouted from two more necks.

“I _can’t!”_ Ashryn snapped back, sheathing her knife for an instant to knot the cloak so she could free both hands, “it has to be crushed and then scattered so we don’t inhale it and use it on _ourselves -”_ she was cut off abruptly by the need to twist aside in avoidance of a clumsy blow, lashing forwards and burying her knife deep in the orc’s chest as she did so, kicking out to remove the body.

Cassian was moving like a whirlwind, never quite stopping. “Then get the _hell_ up that tree,” he commanded, cocking back a small knife in his left hand and flicking it into the forehead of another foe.

“And leave you down here?”

“Both of you, _now!”_ That was Anduillon, and it was clear that he was issuing an order.

Ashryn sheathed her knives, turning and leaping straight up for a branch, feeling rather than seeing Cassian do the same beside her to scramble up even higher. Her hands closed around the lowest branch, and she was swinging a leg up onto the surface in order to place her whole body in safety when something closed around her left ankle. _Like a noose,_ some part of her mind thought inanely as it tightened, a sudden, unexpected weight focused utterly on her leg.

The momentum pulled her straight back over, one leg hooked over the branch and her hands tearing on the rough bark as she lurched, suspended in mid-air. An orc had leapt to grab her foot: unable to jump as high as she, it had, nonetheless, grasped her around the ankle, its entire weight – perhaps double her own – pulling her down to earth.

Her other leg slid over the branch, the weight of the orc falling with her lower body. Something _cracked_ in her ankle as she stopped herself – both of them – from falling, digging her fingers deep into the bark and feeling the splinters deep in her skin, pain shooting up her arms and shoulders, legs twisting and kicking to dislodge her passenger. Her hands were slipping – she was falling –

And then she wasn’t.

There was a thud as the orc crashed to the ground with an arrow in its throat, its companions instantly swarming over its body to grab at Ashryn’s dangling legs, but by then she was already up the branch and clambering up the trunk for a higher one. Her ankle was broken, every movement causing a flare of agony, but she did not dare stop, not even when she tore off a fingernail on the bark, smears of blood following her as she ascended. _I will not fall._

Her hands were scraped and bloody, her shoulders aching, but the pain dulled in comparison to the white-hot poker stabbing her ankle with each second. _I will not fall._

But now there were hands on her arms, settling her against the trunk, blurred figures through the tears of pain, and even voices, saying something that sounded like her name, but it was oddly muted, almost like she was underwater.

A second or an eternity later, Ashryn blinked away the tears, Cassian’s concerned grey eyes focusing in her vision. Daemon was beside her, on another branch leading off the same great trunk, and there was Anduillon just another tree over, both quivers empty.

“I am not going to yell at you,” Cassian promised, “until we get that ankle looked at.”

“Good,” Ashryn replied, fumbling for her cloak, trying as hard as possible not to jolt her ankle. “Good,” she repeated, carefully, spreading it before her on the wide branch, the leaves slightly crushed but still mostly whole. The jeers from below seemed fainter, perhaps sobered by the numerous fallen bodies.

Shifting slightly with a hiss of pain, Ashryn unsheathed one of her knives, holding it hilt down to crush the leaves. Cassian moved forwards hurriedly to take over, grinding them down into a fine paste.

Daemon watched with a keen curiosity; Anduillon warily as he monitored the orcs below.

“They’re better dry,” Ashryn told no one in particular, “but these will do. Anduillon – I need one of those quivers.”

He tossed Cassian the borrowed one, and under Ashryn’s direction, the paste was scraped into the quiver. Grimacing, she wrapped a hand in the remains of her cloak, and Cassian trickled a skin of water into the solution as she mixed. It was perhaps the most rudimentary job she had ever done, a far cry from the fine powdered version of _uirdae_ she had corked in a jar in her house, but it would do. The cloak was also somewhat water repellent, guarding her skin from the poison.

It affected dark creatures – orcs, spiders, trolls – more so than it did the elves, but she still did not dare use her bare hand to mix the poison, especially not after it had been fully crushed.

“Fling it,” Ashryn advised Cassian. “Before they move further apart.” The orcs remained grouped tightly together as they circled the tree which now held all four elves, waving their weapons and chanting with a dark fury, clanging weapons on metal shields, raising an awful clangour.

“Just like that?” Cassian held the quiver uncertainly with both hands, glancing down at their enemy.

Ashryn felt a stab of irritation. “No, I want you to drink it instead. Of _course,_ just like that! If I had a powder, they would inhale it, and it would come into effect much faster, but I don’t, so you’ll have to make do. The mixture will be corrosive to the skin and absorb that way.”

Cassian raised a placating hand. “Just making sure, your highness.”

She scowled. The contents of the quiver went flying in a wide arc, scattering into a multitude of purple tinged droplets and falling like a light summer rain onto the orc patrol. As an afterthought, Ashryn shoved off the remains of her cloak as well, stained with poison and ragged at the edges.

A few seconds of silence. “Is that all?” Cassian asked doubtfully, a question which Ashryn chose not to dignify with an answer as she slumped back on the trunk, closing her eyes.

The adrenaline had done little to dull the agony coursing up her ankle. She needed a splint, perhaps, ice for the swelling, and she absolutely needed to take off her boot to check the extent of the damage. The sounds below were dimming, it seemed, the shouts coming less boisterously. Of course, it could be possible that she was losing consciousness, but Ashryn liked to think of herself as being made of tougher stuff.

Cassian’s inhale of wonder confirmed her success, and Daemon whistled in appreciation.

“They’ll be passed out,” Ashryn explained, “for a long time. A day at least, and if we’re lucky, up to a week, depending on their diet and age. We have time.”

“There’s an old outpost not far from here,” Anduillon said, “if we can get the two of you there, Cassian or I could call for help.”

Cassian grunted. “The horses will be halfway back to the city by now.”

“I always assumed you were the type to enjoy a leisurely stroll, Cassian,” Daemon taunted, still with an undertone of pain.

“It will take us perhaps twenty minutes at a slow pace,” Anduillon ignored both the ellons, “but there will be supplies and safety there. The trickiest part will be getting Ashryn and Daemon off this tree.”

Ashryn opened her eyes. “If I got up here, I can get back down.”

“ _I_ make no such promises,” Daemon teased, but he sounded confident enough, almost nonchalant as he adjusted his weapons at his side.

Anduillon descended first: it took him all of five seconds to reach the ground, and another ten to ensure that the patrol of orcs was out of commission. Less exuberantly, Ashryn followed.

And by Eru, it _hurt._ That was all she had to say.

The getting-out-of-the-tree hurt, the waiting-for-the-others-to-get-out-of-the-tree hurt, the wading-through-the-unconscious-corpses hurt, and above all, the _walking_ (read: hopping) hurt.

In the end, it took forty minutes, not the twenty that Anduillon had predicted, what with the many breaks that Cassian insisted they take whenever he happened to glance over at Ashryn (white as a sheet) and Daemon (jaw clenched so tight he was likely to spit out a tooth). Once they arrived, they had to climb up _another_ tree, which sent a fresh bout of blood seeping out of Daemon’s thigh, just to reach the talan up on the boughs.

There was shelter, dried food, skins of water, and medicine, but Ashryn didn’t quite see any of that. She simply collapsed on the surface, stuffed a fist into her mouth, and _screamed._

“Do I get to do that?” Daemon asked insolently. She would have kicked him if it didn’t hurt so bad.

“You stay,” Anduillon told Cassian shortly, sparing him the need to tell the archer that he would not leave the wounded. “It should not be long.”

Cassian gave a brusque nod in reply, and Anduillon was gone in an instant.

“The foot needs to be elevated,” Ashryn said dazedly, but it was much easier said than done. Even the slightest movement incited a barely controllable urge to scream again, and when Cassian accidentally nudged her leg in order to grab a small pack to rest her foot on, Ashryn quite promptly passed out cold.

\---

She woke to darkness, punctuated by a million dazzling stars and a full moon.

Her throbbing ankle was propped up, her back aching from the hard surface. Across from her, Daemon looked rather hale and hearty despite the fact that his skin was blanched white, pristine bandages around his leg, Anduillon fletching arrows at his side in the starlight.

“Ah, she wakes,” Daemon remarked, and the figure crouched over a large pack rose, blue eyes glinting in the night.

Ashryn managed a tight smile. “Your highness.”

“You should have stayed unconscious,” Legolas told her, “that boot needs to come off.” He cast a dark look at Cassian, who raised both hands in defence. “I am not the healer here.”

“The _healer_ ,” The prince continued, unlacing her boots with fingers light as the wind, “still might lose a leg.”

Cassian paled, but Ashryn rolled her eyes. “I can take off my own boot.”

“Why?” There was a dangerous glint in the prince’s eyes. “I’m doing a much better job.”

“By Eru,” Ashryn swore at both of them angrily. “If it were not for me, all four of us may very well be _dead_ , so stop with your – _argh!”_ She slammed a palm into the wood, even the slightest movement of the boot sending her vision swimming with tears of pain. Her hands, however, were already bound with bandages, now dotted with fresh blood.

Legolas ignored her, bracing one hand gently on her calf and sliding the boot off slowly as Ashryn choked back another cry of torment. “You should not have been out here at all,” he set the boot aside, now slipping deft fingers over her sock to slip that off as well, “and _someone_ was well aware of that.”

Cassian’s jaw was set. “I did not make the decision.”

“Irresponsibility costs lives.” The anger in Legolas’s eyes bled into his voice but not his hands, which remained gentle as he probed around her ankle, the joint swollen and bruised.

“Not today,” Ashryn placated, shifting to get a better look at her own injury. “A few more hours rest and I shall be fine.”

Legolas unscrewed a tin of salve, dark green and pungent with the smell of pine needles, humming in assent as he spread the paste over her ankle. “Aye. But instead of lying here with another scar, Daemon may have died today with an arrow in the heart. Cassian, I hear, may have been utterly besieged by foes and cut down. Anduillon is out of arrows, I see, and in hand to hand combat, he, too, may have fallen. And while this -” he cut off the end of a cotton bandage to bind her foot, “may have simply ended with an amputation, “ _that -_ ” a hand brushed past her cheek to raise a lock of chocolate brown hair, sheared three inches from her scalp, “could have concluded with a knife buried in your skull.” Something dark lingered in the prince’s eyes. “None of you understand death.” His hand withdrew, working to bind her ankle.

“I do not understand death?” Ashryn recoiled, deathly quiet.

Legolas raised his head, gaze meeting her own. Motherless, too, the veteran of a thousand battles. “No, you do not.”

Something blurred in her vision, fury meeting despair, and Ashryn didn’t know whether to hit or to cry. “I don’t want to speak to you,” she whispered to this prince of icy steel.

It had gone very quiet. Neither of them seemed to be breathing, and Ashryn was suddenly terrified.

“Then sleep,” Legolas ordered, rising. “All of you. I shall wake you at dawn.”

Cassian was coiled like a viper, shoulders squared, but he said nothing as the prince settled at the edge of the talan, bow unstrung in his hands, staring out into the dark.

Ashryn curled on to her side, leg still extended and elevated, closing her eyes over the unshed tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, reviews are love!
> 
> Best wishes (and Merry Christmas),
> 
> Silver


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! Hope you all had a spiffing Christmas. I petted three dogs, which is three more than normal weeks, so I must say that my own was rather spectacular.
> 
> This is a very short chapter, but the next one is coming right up! This felt like the right place to cut it, so cut it I did.
> 
> Enjoy :)

The cloak was the green of summer grass, thick, impeccably woven, and above all, _warm._ Blinking the night from her eyes, Ashryn glimpsed the hazy vision of a figure staring into the sunrise, crowned in golden hair, cloakless, and decided it was pity and not regret which had shielded her from the chill.

With consciousness returned the pain. Her hands – pierced by a dozen splinters and throbbing where she had torn a nail were bandaged tightly yet stinging with every move. But even that dulled in comparison to the burning agony in her foot at even the barest shift of her body, lacing up her leg like fire blazing through a tree, unrelenting.

She must have made some noise or moved a bit too suddenly, disturbing the stillness of dawn, because not even a second passed before Legolas materialised at her side, a finger pressed over his lips. Her companions still slept: Daemon was stretched out on his back, Anduillon slumped against a tree trunk, and Cassian rested near the edge of the talan, calves dangling over the edge.

Ashryn fell into a bit of daze as the prince's fingers flitted over her injury, sticks and strips of cloth forming a crude splint. Through the pain, all she registered was that she was being prepared for _more_ walking, and that was a thought which she forced to move on.

She clutched the cloak tightly in her hands, the warmth too comforting – too _safe_ \- to give up just yet. Above Legolas's head was the rising sun, free of the horizon and casting the sky in pinks and golds so vibrant Ashryn could almost taste the colours on the tip of her tongue. Beautiful.

A firm grasp extracted her left hand from under the cloak, and Ashryn meandered out of the haze, dimly focusing on the Prince, cross legged beside her and unravelling the bandages binding her hands. What emerged was a patchwork of skin and scars, the inside of the white cotton speckled with blood. Legolas's own hands were warm, fingers calloused from centuries of archery, but his grip was gentle as he reapplied salve and bound them once more with fresh bandages.

It felt queer – the being taken care of, filling the role of patient instead of healer, and queerer still considering the healer. Ashryn was unsure as to how awake she truly was, feeling his hand holding her own as he knotted the bandage, lips moving as he worked. A prayer? A song? She did not know, but allowed her mind to wander.

Blues now danced with peachy orange, the sun less of gold and more of white with every second, and Ashryn was reminded inexorably of another dawn, tear streaked and numb and black in spite of the sunrise.

She snatched her hand from his grasp.

Their eyes met. Him: expectant, sapphire. Her: brittle, golden.

_None of you understand death._

_I do not understand death?_

_No, you do not._

Pride and pain, remembrances and regrets, the haunting melody of childhood.

_How could you? How could you? How dare you?_

The Prince moved to her other side to address her right hand, and Ashryn sat bolt upright, ignoring the flare of agony in her ankle, drawing her hand well out of his reach. "No," she said, out loud.

_How dare you? How could you?_

Some feet away, Cassian stirred.

Legolas was still, arching an eyebrow. _Are you so proud?_

"No," she repeated, this time no more than a whisper. "I can take care of myself."

He handed her the tin of salve and the bandages but stood and stalked back to the sunrise when she tried to return the cloak. So there she sat, wrapped in green as she clumsily dressed her own wounds. Cassian's eyes were brimming with curiosity when she met them, but she turned away from him as well.

They all had their ghosts, and Ashryn wasn't in the mood to share hers.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god.
> 
> I'm updating very regularly.
> 
> This is scaring me.

The miles blurred into the silence and then into the days.

Ashryn slept for a day and a night once she returned to her once again empty home, shunning company. Cassian came to visit, once alone and once with her uncle, but she sent them off both times, feigning exhaustion. She wasn't sure why – her injuries were healing swiftly, and she had enough restless energy to reorder her supplies, but even the barest hint of their voices sent her recoiling.

It was hunger which sent her back to the outside, a week later. She had eaten her stores dry, and she was utterly bored besides.

Dressing simply in greys and draping a cloak over her shoulders, Ashryn wandered slowly through the cavernous cave system, crossing one bridge and then another, under arching pillars and gnarled roots carved from stalactites, rushing water accompanying her every step. This was the hall of the elvenking – the outer wings of the caves which flanked the royal quarters, housing nobility and scholars and warriors alike.

Stone and wood formed this fortress, rustic, golden toned, and earthy, differing from the _air_ which infused every inch of Rivendell, but Ashryn loved it all the same, relishing in each stone step and spray of mist. Most of the elves dwelt in the surrounding forest, however, and that was where she would find food.

It was slow, her progress: her ankle remained in a splint, but her race had ever been fast healers, and she had recovered enough to put weight on the joint. Neither did she mind the pace. It was peaceful, and she could properly absorb the spaciousness which she had denied herself the past days.

Upon the apex of a bridge lined with twisting stone vines, she found a man.

He wore a black doublet and confusion upon his face, staring at one side of the bridge and then the other, over the edge, and behind, clearly and utterly lost.

Ashryn hobbled up the last few steps, stopping some feet away, bracing a hand on the stones. "Are you in need of assistance, my lord?"

He had not seen her coming, a fact Ashryn found somewhat amusing as she awaited a reply. He had the dusky blonde hair and brown eyes of the horselords, one of the envoys from Rohan. She was surprised they had not yet returned.

"Aye," he relented finally, "it appears that I am, my lady." The man spread his arms, a self-deprecating grin on his face. "I seem to be hopelessly lost."

It felt good to laugh. Ashryn crossed the last few steps slowly, lowering her head in respect. "Well then you are in luck, my lord." She took his offered arm, guiding him back down the side of the bridge from whence she came. "The guest wing, I presume?"

"Indeed. Spacious, and altogether too difficult to find." The man had a weathered face, perhaps twenty five years, and a twinkle in his eyes that Ashryn decided she rather liked.

Their going was slow, in accommodation of Ashryn's ankle. "What is your name, my lord?"

The man scratched at his beard (she found it quite fascinating). "They call me Brego, after some long dead king some five or six hundred years ago, my lady. And yourself?"

_Long dead… five or six hundred years ago._ The times of men flowed strangely, grieving and forgetting so quickly. For a moment, Ashryn envied them.

"My lady?"

Ashryn shook her head slightly, smiling apologetically. "Ashryn, my mother named me," she replied finally. "Somewhat morbid, dust and sand and chasing, but she liked the way it flowed."

"It is a beautiful name, my lady," Brego told her seriously.

"Your namesake was a great warrior and better king," Ashryn said, "though his death was foolish." Brego did not know what to think of this, she could tell, lapsing briefly into silence, so Ashryn continued on. "Tell me of your cause, my lord."

Brego obliged her as they passed beneath a cascade of water, flowing over their heads to rejoin the stream below. "A futile one, I must admit, but necessary. If we join our strength, we could be done with this threat before spring, but that seems unlikely. My people are dying, and more will die before the winter in defiance of this force which will eventually bleed into your elven lands."

_It already has,_ Ashryn though as she listened, hearing the undertone of rage. This man had attended her uncle's gatherings, she knew.

"The king has not received us for a week," Brego went on as they entered the caves marking the guest wing, carved stone doors open and flanked by glowing torches. "They say he is _busy_ with his councillors. Busy! While Rohan bleeds…"

"I hear you, my lord," Ashryn responded, but she also heard what the lady Lithuin had said to her uncle those nights past. "And I wish you the best of luck in your -"

"My lord!" Their path was twisted around a spire of rock, doors leading off within the stone, and from some ways below a voice echoed. "My lord Brego!"

Ashryn tilted her head upwards, spying the man around the corner, hurrying up the path towards them, glancing nervously at the sheer drop beside him as he did so. "My lord, the elf prince was looking for you earlier to…" his voice trailed off, and Ashryn heard the snap of a cloak accompanied not by the sound of footfalls, glancing up.

Legolas swept around the corner, followed by a cape the red of autumn leaves, metal scales adorning his shoulders.

Brego bowed, and Ashryn assumed the nameless man did as well, but her own back remained ramrod straight.

The Prince returned the salutes with a fist pressed over his heart. "My lord Brego, Hamon, King Thranduil has called a council for sundown. We would be honoured if you would attend."

"Aye," Brego replied, either uncaring or naively unknowing that Legolas had heard every blistering word concerning his father. "Me and mine will be there." He turned to Ashryn, dipping his head. "Thank you for your assistance, my lady. I believe I know the way from here."

"It was my pleasure, my lord."

Hamon had opened a door, and Brego slipped in after him. Ashryn watched the door close, and when she turned back, Legolas was before her.

He had halted a step above, she saw, and Ashryn had to incline her head upwards more than usual to observe the way his eyes darted over her, down to the splint and back up past the hands, no longer bandaged but clearly scarred. Something flickered in the depths of the blue steel, as he beheld the green cloak which wrapped around her shoulders.

_His_ cloak, Ashryn realised belatedly. _Greenleaf._

"Are you well, my lady?"

There was a myriad of responses flitting through Ashryn's head, a great deal of them biting, petty, and hurtful – or was it hurt? "I am walking the halls, am I not?" Her voice was cooler than the pre-winter air, but the prince did not react.

"So you are. May I accompany you anywhere?"

"I cannot stop you," Ashryn told him, turning for the path back out of the guest wing.

Legolas fell in beside her, offering his arm. After some time, Ashryn took it, hating herself even as she did so, her ankle twinging with every step. Somehow, he managed to guide her despite not knowing her destination.

"Why are you angry, Ashryn?" The question came after several minutes of silence, Legolas looking down at her as he did so, his look inquisitive.

The audacity of it almost took her breath away, and Ashryn's grip tightened on his arm. "Why do you think I am angry, Legolas?" She had never before addressed him with anything but his title, but now she drew over the word tauntingly, mocking.

Something in the way she said his name made the prince stiffen slightly, almost imperceptibly, but Ashryn was close enough to see the way his pupils dilated. "I am asking you, my lady."

Ashryn clasped her hands together over his elbow, quiet. "I am angry because you saw fit to repudiate the deaths of my mother and father. _I do not understand death?_ "

"You understand suffering but not mortality."

"I am angry _,_ " Ashryn bowelled over him, "because you sought to deny the impact death has wrought upon me. I am angry because you tried to define my feelings, and _I am angry" -_ (I am hurt) - "because I never, _ever_ , thought it would be you who would do this."

Something had shattered.

Legolas's gaze was stricken as he drew to a stop under the small waterfall she and Brego had passed earlier, his free hand reaching out tentatively. "My lady, I -"

" _How could you?_ " The syllables crackled and broke.

His hand was inches away from her cheek when she flinched away, and Legolas snatched it back in a blur. "You could have died," he said softly, something painfully like devastation in his eyes.

Ashryn let her hand slide from his elbow and allowed herself to crumple against the stone beside her, damp from the water which did not quite make it over the passage, sliding to the floor. Droplets scattered over her head and soaked into the cloak as Ashryn drew her knees to her chest, the splint awkward, dropping her head heavily into her palms.

"Ashryn."

She could feel the warmth of fingertips not quite touching her shoulders as the tears finally came, filling the void which had consumed her for the past week, hot and silent and shuddering.

"I never intended to cause you pain," Legolas was saying, a hesitant hand finally bracing just over her shoulder, fingers gentle as he drew her away from the trickles of icy water but still holding her at a distance, "and I am sorry to have done so. Truly."

Ashryn raised her head, feeling as though something had fractured deep inside her, leaning heavily into the touch, hating the weakness and yet so starved of contact she could not bring herself to draw away. Something in her watery eyes caused Legolas to wrap both arms around her, one hand tracing soothing circles down her back while he hummed softly, the words undecipherable.

Slowly, the tears stopped. The scales falling down his chest glinted with moisture where her head rested as he held her, the both of them sprawled across the walkway.

"Are you well, Ashryn?" The question passed over her head, voice soft.

Drawing back slightly, Ashryn managed a tremulous nod.

They were very close. She could see every strain of silver in his eyes, and he could, in turn, discern the ring of green surrounding the golden hazel in her own. Legolas shifted slightly, bracing his hands gently upon her shoulders. "There are matters of which I would like to discuss with you, should you be willing."

A wry half smile split across her face. "Your wish is my command."

The prince's left eyebrow twitched ever so slightly at her response as he rose, bringing her to her feet. "It is my wish to escort you back to your quarters then, my lady."

Ashryn spent the walk doing her best not to look as mortified as she felt – and by Elbereth the starkindler, she was _mortified._ Legolas, of course, showed no sign of discomfort at her quite complete meltdown, but Ashryn was a rather different story. She had always been – had always prided herself as being – composed, logical, and reasonable.

But something about the last few days had quite thoroughly destroyed that. She had been, by turns, utterly consumed with fear, anger, grief, and briefly realised she very well might die in Arda. Perhaps Legolas had served only as the trigger.

They were ascending steadily. Ashryn's quarters lay so close to the surface that she was practically above ground, and her window opened to grass and winds, unlike the royal quarters which were carved of an underground chamber within a chamber, all open spaces and stairwells without doors.

Cassian, waiting just around the corner adjacent to her door, jolted her quite suddenly out of her thoughts. Legolas's arm tensed under her grasp.

He looked different.

Ashryn had barely seen Cassian the day they departed the talan: he had scouted back to the site where the orcs fell as the rest of the party began the slow progress back to the city and rejoined them only after Ashryn had fallen into a drowse on the back of her horse, brought back by Legolas. After the returned, of course, she had refused to see him.

Now? Seven days had taken their toll on Cassian, though Ashryn could not fathom why. There was a feverish glint in his grey eyes, a gauntness under his cheekbones which had not quite been there before, and there was an insistent, recurring twitch under one of his eyes. Even his _voice_ sounded different. The underlying playfulness which had always accompanied him had quite vanished, and his voice was raw as he greeted her. "I was looking for you."

"I was not here," Ashryn responded, perplexed. Cassian was not the type to wait around.

Cassian snorted. "I can see that. But now you are, and I need to speak to you."

Ashryn decided right then that she did not like this new, updated version of Cassian one bit, slipping her hand from Legolas's arm and taking a step forward. "Need, is it? I find that rather subjective, don't you? It happens that I am not in the mood to be spoken at, but should you happen to chance upon some food, I would perhaps change my mind. Now the nourishment of the body – _that_ is (to some) necessity."

Cassian's face contorted. "This is not the time for your games, Ashryn."

"Perhaps you ought to rethink your phrasing," Ashryn told him coldly. "I am not interested in talking with you when you see fit to treat me like an inferior."

"You ar -" Cassian's mouth shut abruptly, but Ashryn knew exactly what was about to come out of his mouth.

"I'm afraid I don't recognise your position as being one superior to mine," Ashryn raised her head, "so unfortunately, even if you _had_ sought to, ah, _pull rank_ , I would have refused you."

"Ashryn," Cassian's voice took on a pleading note even as he set his jaw stubbornly. "We have to speak to – with you."

"We?" Ashryn clapped a hand to her mouth. "Pardon me, but I had not realised you and my lord uncle were a single entity. If he needs me, he knows where to find me. Now, if you would kindly excuse yourself." Stepping neatly aside, she swept out a hand, a clear invitation to leave.

Cassian ignored her, shoulders squaring and baring his teeth in a sneer at her. "So you'll speak with him but not me?"

"To whom are you referring?" The question was laced with vicious sarcasm, all polished manners.

Perhaps Legolas was closer, so Cassian chose to direct his wrath at the prince with a sharp jerk of his head.

"If I were you," Legolas's voice was deadly soft, only speaking now that he had been addressed, "I would be a great deal more respectful."

"Why?" Cassian shot back, disrespectfully.

"Because we have not yet discussed your actions during the patrol last week, which was explicitly ordered not to engage. I have heard from both Anduillon and Daemon, the latter of which will be out of commission for weeks yet. I know that _your_ actions, as member and leader of that patrol, are responsible for both the injuries dealt to your friends and the attraction of orc attention." Legolas spoke with a cold fury which Ashryn had never heard before. " _I am not happy,_ Cassian. And I will have you know that the next time you endanger others, your life in Eryn Lasgalen is forfeit. Do you understand?"

Cassian's face had bleached white. "You do not have the authority."

A languid tilt of the head. "Don't I?"

" _Leave,_ Cassian," Ashryn interjected, before he could do something truly stupid. Perhaps Cassian felt as though Candor was his lord and ruler, but Thranduil's – and Legolas's – word was law. And Ashryn knew just how much value Legolas placed on those who led others into danger.

Cassian left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is enjoying this so far! My characters seem to be evading me somewhat lately, Legolas most of all, because in the lotr trilogy he is distinct because he is an elf, and consequently it is immensely difficult to glean what makes him unique amongst his own kind. Dialogue is killing me.
> 
> So please review, my lovelies! Especially let me know what you think of characterisation, since this is a very dialogue heavy chapter.
> 
> Lots of love,
> 
> Silver


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone!
> 
> Sorry for the delay, but I've had a hectic couple weeks, what with New Years and my birthday and failing my driving test (you know, the usual).
> 
> So without further ado - chapter 9:

Falling heavily against the door, Ashryn pressed a hand over her eyes, feeling the breath escape from her lungs at the impact.

"I don't understand."

A hand wrapped around her elbow, guiding her away from the door and into a seat. "Neither do I."

Ashryn braced her forearms on her knees, eyes still shielded by her hands, feeling as though she was about to retch. "I don't understand," she repeated, the words recycling through her brain again and again and rinsing out all others.

"Yes, Ashryn."

That didn't make sense as a response. "I don't -"

" _Ashryn."_

Dimly she felt a touch of a hand on her knee, another closing around her wrist, and she looked up, blinking in disorientation. "What just happened?"

"You know what happened."

She did. And she did not.

"Cassian -"

A flare of anger. "I know."

Fumbling blindly with her feet, Ashryn narrowly missed kicking Legolas in the face as she tried to stand, only to have firm hands on her shoulders keeping her down. "Let me _go_ , Legolas, I need to find my uncle."

He held steady. "You will. But not now."

"I swear by Eru, Legolas, if you try to stop me, I will take that bow of yours and -"

" _Please,_ Ashryn," the prince placated, raising his palms. "Hear me out first. Afterwards, I promise not to stop you."

Huffing out a breath of pure irritation, Ashryn slumped back into her seat. "Fine. _Fine._ Later, then."

For several long seconds, they glared at each other, Legolas kneeling on the ground and Ashryn with her arms crossed in her seat, glowering.

Then, her stomach let out a loud rumble, and the prince's frown turned promptly into a snort of laughter, rising to his feet and offering her a hand. "What were you going to do with my bow?"

"The details are too delicate for such princely ears," Ashryn informed him, baring her teeth but taking his hand nonetheless.

Gripping it firmly, Legolas pulled her to her feet. "Such violent thoughts are rather ill befitting a lady, are they not?"

"I am as much a lady as you are a prince."

Legolas dropped her hand, something flickering deep in his eyes. "I'll be sure to keep my bow far away from you, then." The humour suddenly sounded forced, his face guarded, despite the smile still remaining.

Scanning over his features and deciding that she would rather not ask any questions (question too often led to answers), Ashryn touched his elbow gently. "I hope you have some food, because I'm famished. And we can talk, if you want."

"I…" Legolas hesitated, reaching behind his back and under his cloak. "I have an apple?"

Plucking said apple from his palm, Ashryn smiled, took a bite and said, "I want to show you something."

The prince walked so closely behind her as Ashryn limped up the stairs that she could feel every breath of air on the back of her neck, apparently expecting her to fall. It was kind, if not a little irritating, and she contemplated faking a falter just to see how he'd react, but they reached the top before she had made up her mind.

The small corridor on her upper landing boasted a large window at the end, peering out into endless forests and a silver river carving through the trees, the panes circled with wood. With a few deft twists and shoves, the window gave way, allowing in a rush of misty air and the sound of the water. The space was just large enough for her to slip through.

Legolas's inquisitive look was one of wary, yet almost childlike curiosity.

Outside was a flat platform, a large rock rising from the calm waters into which her chambers were carved. The current was swift enough to dissuade any from venturing into its waters, but not so much that she feared her rock would be corroded away anytime soon. There was just enough space on the surface for perhaps three.

Breathing in deeply the forest air, Ashryn manoeuvred her good leg through first before the injured one, wavering only slightly on the landing. Sliding through the gap and settling down on the rock, she extended her legs and leaned back on her elbows, closing her eyes to the cool air. "Are you coming or not?"

"I do not fit."

_What?_

"What?"

Ashryn turned and suppressed a snort. The quiver on Legolas's back had been painstakingly and slowly lowered onto the rock outside, followed by his bow. The scaled armour on his broad shoulders had to also be discarded alongside the red cloak before the prince could fit through the window, and even then, it was with somewhat of a clumsy movement. Ashryn very determinedly pushed down a chortle.

"Does anyone know of this place?" Legolas did not immediately settle upon the surface, electing instead to first venture to the edges of their little platform, before clambering _over_ the window they had exited from to reach the apex of the rock into which her home was built.

"Well someone would have to be," Ashryn said, sounding almost cheerful. This was her favourite spot in all the earth and sky, and it seemed that not even the events of the past days could serve to impact upon this.

Legolas's voice came from above when he gave his reply. "I presume that this is some offshoot of the forest river. These waters are not swift enough to be the river itself."

"I _know,_ Legolas," Ashryn laughed. "I know precisely where we are. Now sit down."

There was the barest rustle of clothing as the prince leapt lightly over the open window, landing on soundless feet before dropping beside her, folding his legs beneath him. "I have a question," Legolas said, bracing his palms upon the stone.

"I would assume that I have the answer," Ashryn raised an eyebrow.

The prince gave a grudging smile. "Why do you so rarely call me by my name?"

Ashyn's brows furrowed as she sat up, her eyes now level with Legolas's. A faint breeze pushed a tendril of dark hair into her eyes. "Respect," she decided finally, taking another bite from her apple.

"Respect?" His eyebrows shot up.

Nodding slowly, Ashryn searched for the words. "It is not that I reject the idea of nobility. I was born into it, after all, but I do attempt to avoid meaningless titles, and those especially vain, or steeped into the idea of their own superiority tend to notice when these titles are omitted. So when I address you, it is in acknowledgement of your status as my prince." She smiled. "Of course, I am not always actively aware when I do use such honourifics, but I largely am when I do not."

Legolas was quiet for a while, listening to the water rushing past. "I am flattered," he finally said, and Ashryn noticed with no small amount of amusement that his cheeks were tinged pink. "I do suppose I deserved that earlier blistering." Another lingering silence. "But what of now?"

"Now?" Ashryn shrugged. "Is this not a conversation between equals?"

Legolas shook his head. "No," he mused, "I believe it is a conversation between friends, Ashryn."

_Friends._ Ashryn had precious little in way of those. Patients, yes, comrades, acquaintances, but Cassian likely stood as her only true friend. She had somewhat of a reputation, not quite a healer, but respected. Feared, perhaps, many were apprehensive of her, but friends? "I would like that," she admitted finally, settling the core of the apple beside her.

"I am glad to hear of it," Legolas replied lightly.

Leaning back once more, this time fully reclined upon the surface, Ashryn closed her eyes against the sky. "Why were _you_ angry, Legolas?"

"You already know why I was angry with Cassian," his voice drifted over her head, disembodied. "It is a very much similar reason for you. You could very well have died in the forest, Ashryn, and it would have been an avoidable death. Which, in my opinion, is the worst kind."

"But I didn't."

"But you _could_ have." His voice was icy still. "I know what it's like, Ashryn, combat. I have very much always been assured of my own invincibility. But we bleed like mortals, and we can die like mortals, and too many of our kin have forgotten that." An audible breath. "I know this, and I assumed that you, like so many others, did not."

Ashryn cracked open an eye against the grey sky. "I am not ignorant of that fact, Legolas. But the risk I took was a calculated one. You know that. You've taken risks."

The prince had finally relaxed enough to also sprawl upon the rock beside her, legs bent at the knees and feet flat on the ground. "Perhaps, then, I simply did not want to be responsible for another's death." His eyes were open, almost vacant. "I know I am not the sole architect of these missions, but I _am_ an architect nonetheless."

"You can't be responsible for everything."

"You said yourself, _I am prince._ And though I will forever rue the day, one day I may yet be king. These woods – these lives are under my protection."

Ashryn turned her head to study his profile. No crown was evident on his head, but the way his hair was braided, the posture even though he was laying down, all exhibited the marks of royalty. She did not quite know what to say.

Legolas breathed out something that was not quite a laugh. "Ah, but enough of my digression. Let us speak of your uncle."

The question was loaded. Ashryn remained silent.

"I have heard from -"

"Anduillon?"

"No, Daemon."

Ashryn huffed. "I should have known."

Legolas had sat up beside her, now looking down with just the hint of simmering anger beneath the calm facade. "What will you do?"

_What will you do?_

What had she done? Very much of nothing, it seemed.

"I do not know," she said finally.

"And why is that?"

Ashryn chewed lightly on her lower lip, fingers drumming on the stone as she thought. "I am afraid," she admitted. "Not of my uncle, no. I do not believe he would truly hurt me or risk utterly alienating both myself and Cassian. But I think I am… apprehensive, I suppose. If I do confront him, what will come of that? What changes? Will anything change at all? Is the conflict worth it?" She paused, thinking, feeling the prince's gaze burning into her skull. "I do not know."

Neither of them spoke for a long time.

"I cannot make a decision for you," Legolas ventured.

Ashryn replied immediately. "I am not asking you to. This is my problem, after all."

"Very well then. Let's move on." The prince's manner was suddenly crisp, methodical. "The war."

"You are calling it such?"

"Even if it is not yet a war, it will be. I see no purpose in glossing over that fact."

Ashryn's brows flicked up and back down quickly, unable to disguise her response.

"My father is not a foolish king. He loves his people, his land, and he is utterly dedicated to protecting our Greenwood. If he had heard even a whisper of orcs within our borders, he would utterly eradicate it." He hesitated, almost as though steeling his nerves. "However, I am… uncertain that this would be the wisest course."

Frowning, Ashryn held up a hand. "Why are you telling me this, Legolas?"

The prince wavered. "I – I do not know who else I can."

That alone shocked Ashryn into silence, eyes finding his as the true weight of the statement hit her. Was that a _weakness_ that had bled into his words? Was she only now, after three thousand years, seeing a crack in that collected façade which had been presented to any and all since the tragedy which had blanketed the royal family?

_I do not know who else I can._

Of _course,_ he couldn't tell anyone else. By matching his stance with those who were openly opposing his father, Legolas risked not only wrath but possibly ruin if he played his cards wrong. And confiding in Candor and his faction would give them too much leverage over the crown prince. But she – she was close enough to the players to have knowledge of the situation, and certainly seemed reclusive – and powerless - enough to keep a secret. She ought to be honoured, had she not been quite so affronted.

"Thanks," she replied, drily.

"I do not seek to offend," Legolas placated, letting out a humourless chuckle. "But I fear I may go insane if I do not confide in anyone for even another day." His eyes were greyer than they were blue in that moment, clouded, hazy. "You have given me no reason to mistrust you."

Grudgingly, Ashryn inclined her head. "I would hope to not give you any such reasons in the future."

Finally, a smile. "As do I. When we spoke in your uncle's meeting, I recall you saying 'you know what my uncle wants.' And I do, Ashryn. I am not naïve, nor am I foolish. I would also like to think of myself as knowing exactly what I am doing."

"Then you don't need my affirmation."

"Aye. But it would still be pleasant to receive it." A small shift of his body sent his shoulder bumping playfully into her own.

A teasing tone had entered Legolas's voice, and Ashryn found herself quite unable to hold back the small grin that crept onto her face. "Maybe some other day, your royal highness." _I want no part in this._

For a few seconds, both of them watched the water tumbling past, the grey blue the same shade as Legolas's eyes.

"I am not trying to manipulate you, Ashryn," Legolas ventured. "I do not seek your public support or anything of the kind. You have navigated your position admirably, and I would not wish the burdens of my world upon anyone, least of all a friend."

Ashryn felt strangely touched, and it was with heartfelt sincerity that she bowed her head. "For that, I thank you." Staring into the depths of the forest, rustling with life, she blinked several times. A futile sentiment, but a welcome one nonetheless.

"The sun is setting," Legolas observed, raising his eyes to the glare of the orange light. "There is to be a great gathering of council members and delegates. Your uncle will attend."

Ashryn grasped the invitation well enough. "Will there be food?"

Legolas let out a deep, throaty chuckle. "Wine, at the very least."

"Ah, perfect." Ashryn stood, marvelling at the almost undecipherable twinge in her ankle. She would have to change into something that hadn't already been worn for the past four days. As Legolas too rose to his feet, towering over her, she reached for the clasp at her neck. "Would you like your cloak back?"

The prince shook his head, smiling. "It was a gift."

And so it was. Hand dropping back down to her side, Ashryn slipped back through the window, Legolas shutting it firmly behind him.

The two of them stood in the hallway – suddenly too narrow – as Legolas readorned his armour, quiver strapped once more over his shoulders and knife hilts over his shoulders. Ashryn's back was pressed against the wall to allow him room, but they still stood close enough to hear each other's' breaths. Shifting uncertainly, she raised her head to look him in the eye.

"The meeting shall be held in the formal council chambers," Legolas informed her. "Sundown."

"Sundown," she echoed, nodding.

There were several heartbeats of silence.

Still, the prince made no move to leave, something straining in his eyes, as though there was something he desperately wanted to say but couldn't quite find the words for –

"My lord?"

Jolting slightly, almost imperceptibly, Legolas seemed to suddenly ground himself back in reality. "I will see you soon," he promised, a hand raising to touch her bicep lightly and leaning down – a breath hitched in her throat - to press a kiss on her cheek before turning in a swirl of red silk, descending the stairs two at a time.

A few moments later, she heard the door close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took bloody forever to write, even though perhaps 90% of it was written in one go. Figures. Let me know what you think.
> 
> Updates might be somewhat inconsistent the following weeks, as I'll be on holiday to see family and (hopefully) receive an unnecessarily large quantity of gifts and love.
> 
> Reviews are better than triple chocolate brownies and peeling off sunburnt skin. :))
> 
> Lots of love,
> 
> Silver


End file.
